


Chasing Twisters

by geckocest (Pye)



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Codependency, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-04 06:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12163059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pye/pseuds/geckocest
Summary: For as long as Richie can remember, it's Seth who's been the axis point around which his life revolves.





	1. Kids

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic made up of a ton of smaller fics and headcanons I've written about these two over the past few years. Each chapter is a glimpse into a different time or event in their lives and can pretty much stand on its own, but together they tell the story of how I imagine Seth and Richie found their way into the relationship we saw in the show. 
> 
> I am my own beta so I'm pretty slow with updates, but I have every intention of seeing this thing through to the end. Enjoy the ride. :*

\--

**August, 1994**

 

"Rich _ie_ , don’t be such an ass!"

 

There’s a whiny edge to Seth’s voice that makes Richie grin at him from across the backyard.

 

"If you want it so bad, come and get it then," Richie taunts. "It's right here." He holds his ice cream cone at arms length, letting Seth get just close enough to think he could touch it before snatching it away again.

 

" _Richard_ ," Seth insists. "You _promised_."

 

Seth grabs for the cone and Richie jumps backward, kicking up a dandelion in his haste to get away. Cottony seeds go everywhere, sticking to their shirts and tickling Richie's nose as he ducks behind the metal shed and narrowly misses dropping his entire prize onto the ground. Seth gives chase, blocking him off around the other side and cornering him in a small, scrubby patch of dirt that was probably a garden once upon a time, backing Richie up against the wooden slats of the fence.

 

"You said you'd share," Seth says indignantly. "You don’t even like chocolate that much."

 

"I used _my_ allowance for it," Richie retorts.

 

Seth reaches for it again, even though ice cream is half melted all over Richie’s hand and the remainder is about two seconds away from falling into the dirt. "Please?" Seth adds, puppy eyes out in full force, lower lip jutted into a pout.

 

Richie heaves a melodramatic sigh, though he hesitates only a moment before he hands the cone over.

 

Seth beams at him as he gleefully wolfs down the rest, licking his fingers clean and wiping them dry on the front of his Spiderman t-shirt with an air of self satisfaction, heedless of the ice cream smear he's just left over Spiderman's face.

 

"You're such a baby," Richie says, giving Seth a playful shove.

 

Seth scowls and tosses the crumpled paper that had been wrapped around the cone at Richie, getting three steps before Richie tackles him and they go down hard onto patchy grass, wrestling and grappling until Seth manages to roll them over, pinning Richie to the ground.

 

“Fight me then, if I'm such a baby,” Seth laughs, using his weight to keep Richie’s arms pinned up above his head, lacing their fingers together. Richie struggles half-heartedly and scrunches his face, trying to fix his glasses after they slid down his nose in the scuffle. Seth leans forward and does it for him, using the tip of his nose to push Richie’s glasses back up.

 

He doesn’t pull away after, just stays there breathing Richie’s air, smelling like sweet chocolate and sunshine and cheap fabric softener.

 

"I guess you win," says Richie, though he could flip his shrimpy brother off of him easy, if he really wanted to.

 

Seth's soft, shy smile quirks the bow of his mouth. "I guess I do."

 

And then Seth, in a movement that could have lasted anywhere between a half second and a thousand years, leans down and closes the gap between them, touching their lips together in the barest imitation of a kiss.

 

It’s nothing like what Richie’s read in the dog-eared harlequins their mother left behind. There are no fireworks and there’s no electricity crackling between them, no angels singing in the distance. But something about it leaves Richie breathless when Seth pulls back with his lips pursed and his eyes open wide, like he's just as surprised as Richie is.

 

"Seth-"

 

" _Seth_!" Dad's voice is a deep crack from inside the house and Seth springs away like he got burned, their palms unsticking painfully as he stumbles to his feet.

 

He runs his fingers through his hair the way he always does when he knows he’s done something wrong, and leaves Richie laying on the prickly grass, listening to the screen door bang against its frame and Seth’s footsteps recede into nothing.

 


	2. Shotgun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to child abuse.

\--

**January, 1995**

 

Sometimes, Richie comes home and  _ knows, _ the second he steps through the door, that something is off. It happened the day Dad beat Seth halfway to senseless over a failing grade, it happens every time Dad brings someone - a friend or a  _ friend _ or both - home with him, and it happened the night a few weeks ago that Peaches, their big German Shepherd, disappeared through a hole in the backyard fence.

 

He'd had a hunch when Dad sent him out to the store earlier that there was a motive beyond just a hankering for lotto tickets and Takis. Normally, Richie's able to convince Dad to let Seth come along, but lately Richie's usual tricks are working less and less, and he's sensed a slow shift in the air between them all that's had him feeling like he's walking on a wire around Dad, just barely able to keep his balance.

 

When he got back a few minutes ago, the fact that the car wasn't in the driveway was enough to send a shiver of unease up his spine, and the feeling's only grown the longer he's stood here in the foyer in deafening silence, working up the courage to go further inside.

 

Eventually he takes a deep breath, gulps down his fear, and toes off his sneakers, leaving them beside Seth's smaller ones on the mat. 

 

It doesn't take long to locate his brother; their house isn't very big and there aren't many places he could be. Richie only gives the hallway a cursory glance before he catches sight of Seth in the living room, sitting on the couch and staring blankly at the pieces strewn over the coffee table in front of him.

 

Seth doesn't acknowledge Richie, but the way he hangs his head even lower is enough, shoulders sloping in a defeated slump.

 

"I'm never gonna be good enough," Seth says dully.

 

Richie drops his bag on the floor and goes to Seth, surveying the table and recognizing the stock of the gun amongst the scattered parts. "That's Dad's new one," Richie says. "Of course you're not gonna know how to put it back together right away."

 

Seth's hands clench into fists. "You could," he mutters, in that same, dull, frightening voice.

 

All Richie hears is Dad coming out of Seth's mouth, spat like venom through Seth's gritted teeth. 

 

"You just need practice." Richie's gentle, careful. Afraid to say the wrong thing. "You'll get it, just like you got the pistol."

 

He goes to tilt Seth's head to face him, but Seth beats him to it, looking up before Richie can touch him.

 

Richie's breath catches in his throat at the sight of him.

 

On Seth's right cheek is the beginnings of a spectacular bruise, and his chin is streaked with drying blood, starting to crust over and flake at the corners.

 

"I deserved it." Seth gestures toward his face. "I'm too slow."

 

Anger begins to grow inside Richie, spitting and clawing and snarling like a wild animal in his chest. At himself, for not trying harder; at Dad, for putting Seth through this. At Seth, for taking all the blame, even though he's the one person in this picture who hasn't done anything wrong.

 

"Shut up." Richie snaps, hauling Seth to his feet by his upper arm. Richie wants to hit something, punch it and feel it crack under his fists. "Shut up, Seth."

 

"He says I'm too much like Mom was," Seth says absently, stumbling a little as Richie yanks him down the hallway toward the bathroom. "Too soft, I ask too many questions, I-"

 

Richie halts abruptly, just outside the bathroom door, and Seth nearly bumps right into his back. He rounds on Seth, catching Seth's flinch at the sight of his expression and trying to school it into something resembling calm.

 

"Dad's stupid tests and his stupid games don't mean  _ shit,"  _ Richie says viciously, half to Seth, half to Dad, wherever he's disappeared to. 

 

Seth's eyes well up but he blinks back the tears, swaying a little in his place. 

 

Richie relaxes his grip on Seth's arm, smoothing wrinkles out of his sleeve. "There's nothing wrong with you," Richie says, and tugs him the rest of the way into the bathroom. 

 

Seth follows mutely and perches on the edge of the bathtub, accepting the damp towel Richie hands him a moment later and half heartedly scrubbing at the blood on his chin while Richie looks for something to sterilize the cut. As Richie searches he listens to Seth breathe, each breath punctuated by the watery wheeze of someone trying their hardest not to fall apart. 

 

Richie's fingers are quaking slightly when he finds their makeshift first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink, tucked behind a basket of empty pill bottles and an ancient bottle of nail polish remover.

 

He kneels down in front of Seth and dips a cotton ball into rubbing alcohol. Seth winces when it touches him, despite Richie's attempts to be gentle as he wipes away the remainder of the blood crusting the hollow under Seth's lower lip. 

 

As the full extent of the damage is revealed, Richie nearly sags in relief - the split is smaller than he'd initially thought from how much it bled, and it doesn't look like it'll need stitches. 

 

"Why do you care so much?" Seth asks suddenly, eyes shut tight against the sting on his cut lip as Richie dabs at it. "What have I ever done for you that was so great?" 

 

It catches Richie somewhere deep inside, hearing Seth sound so empty and tired. 

 

He wants to tell Seth that school would be a joke, that all of his favourite movies would be boring, that his dreams are nothing without Seth at his side. He knows he'd wither away without Seth, that he'd just die if he had to lay in bed every night and not hear him across the room. 

 

"You're here," Richie says. The rest catches in his throat, balling up into a sickly lump that threatens to grow into the tears that have been playing at the edges of his periphery since he got home.

 

"Sometimes it feels like everything would be better if I wasn't," Seth mutters.

 

Richie swallows hard and puts the dirty cotton ball to the side. "Don't talk like that, Seth," he says quietly.

 

Seth just stares at the floor.

 

"We should get some ice," Richie says, resting his fingers lightly on Seth's swollen cheek. "But it's probably too late to stop the swelling." 

 

"Everyone's gonna stare in class tomorrow," Seth sighs, crossing his forearms over his knees. 

 

"Well, I could try to kiss it better," Richie offers, hoping for a smile in response. He gets one, a little one, along with a chuckle and a soft, affectionate look. 

 

"I guess I wouldn't mind," Seth says. Another smile, shy this time.

 

It's a stupid, kiddie thing - as if kissing injuries better ever works, whether it's adults who do it or someone else. 

 

But it's something more than kind, useless words. Which, though well intentioned, have a tendency to roll off Seth entirely. 

 

Richie straightens to reach Seth, and presses a kiss to Seth's cheek.

 

Seth smells like copper, sweat, and gun oil, and his soft skin is overly warm to the touch, almost feverish. It makes Richie want to hold him and never let go, so Dad can never do this to him again.

 

Seth's eyes are closed, fluttering open only after Richie pulls away from him again.

 

"Look at me," Richie says. "I want you to look at me."

 

Seth obeys, locking his soft brown gaze to Richie's when Richie kisses him again, this time on his busted lip, a brush more than a touch, even, with how scared Richie is of hurting his brother.

 

He hovers there after he pulls away, just like Seth did on that day in the backyard last summer.

 

"It's you and me, Seth," Richie says, running a hand up the back of Seth's neck to tip his head, pressing their foreheads together. "We don't need anybody else."

 

Seth leans into it. "Yeah, Richard. It's you and me."

 

Richie lets go of Seth and settles back on his haunches again, looking up at Seth and the orange halo of the sunset behind him, shining in through the bathroom window.

 

There's a moment that everything seems like it might be okay, where the shadows are hiding the worst of the swelling and Seth's got this fond look on his face, and he starts to look more like the brother Richie knows is in there, hiding under the wreckage.

 

But then Seth slides off the edge of the tub, onto his knees on the bathmat in front of Richie. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, as he pulls Richie into a hug. "M sorry, Rich." 

 

Richie hugs him back fiercely, fighting the sudden pressure behind his eyes. Seth is okay this time, but what about next time? What about the time after that? 

 

Dad's not going to stop. 

 

Richie digs his fingers into Seth's shirt and he loses the battle, keeps down the sob but not the tears, which spill down his cheeks in hot, hateful trails.

 

"It's not your fault," he says, in a shaky whisper. "It's  _ his."  _

 

Seth hiccoughs and doesn't answer, though Richie knows exactly what he'd say.  _ It is my fault. I'm weak. I'm useless. I'm nothing. _

 

As if the fact that Seth lives and breathes isn't the only reason Richie wants to be here at all.

 

He holds Seth tighter, presses his wet face into his neck. And then makes himself a promise, right there on the bathroom floor with his brother in his arms. 

 

This may not have been the first time he's had to find Seth bruised and beaten at their father's hands, but it will be the last.

 


	3. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter goes to some pretty dark places, and there are non-explicit references to child sexual abuse that could probably trigger some people, so heads up. I promise, it gets happier from here.
> 
> And there will be porn. Lots! Of porn. 
> 
> (This wouldn't be a Pye fic if there wasn't)

\--

**February, 1995**

 

Richie had always wondered if a burning house would look as dramatic as it does on TV. And it does, kind of - the windows haven't blown out yet, but the orange, flickering glow behind the glass and the smoke billowing out the open front door is pretty, in a weird sort of way.

 

Seth is curled up beside Richie on the sidewalk, knees tucked under his chin as he makes himself as small as he can be.

 

"What if I could have helped him?" Seth asks, in a thin, strained voice.  

 

Richie has to bite his tongue to avoid asking Seth why he cares. 

 

"There was nothing you could have done," Richie says instead. "He was as good as gone by the time I got you." 

 

The sirens wailing in the distance are growing louder, and Richie wishes he could tell them all to just turn back and go away, because he wants to watch this place burn to the ground and take the rest of this shitty neighbourhood with it. 

 

"D'you think he knew he was dying?" 

 

"You know how he gets when he's drunk." Richie puts an arm around Seth, drawing him closer. Pressing his nose into Seth's hair, all shampoo and smoke, and the smell of Seth, the smell of  _ home. _ "I'm sure he didn't even know what was happening."

 

Seth presses himself into Richie's side. "I hope you're right," he says quietly.

 

_ I don't,  _ Richie thinks to himself.  _ I hope he was scared, I hope he was sorry, and I hope he knew it was  _ **_me._ **

 

\--

 

_ "Seth." _

 

_ It comes out a drunken mumble, barely audible from the corner Richie's been reading in across the room. He looks up to see Dad staring at an oblivious Seth in a way he never has before, something intense and odd and different that's making the hairs on the back of Richie's neck stand on end.  _

 

_ Today is the first day in a couple weeks that Dad's been back for more than a few hours. He'd been on a job and it didn't go well this time, though it hasn't gone well the last few times either and they're getting low on money, and high up in debt.  _

 

_ "Seth, c'mere," Dad repeats. _

 

_ Seth registers it this time, and he stiffens, holding an empty dinner plate he was about to take to the kitchen. He looks like a prey animal caught in a predator's sights, eyes wide, fingers clutched so tight around the plate they're starting to go white.  _

 

_ "Am I speaking fuckin' Mexican? I just told you to  _ **_come here_ ** **,** **_"_ ** _ Dad snarls. "When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it." _

 

_ Seth slowly slides the plate back onto the folding table Dad eats his meals on and takes a hesitant step toward him. _

 

_ Richie lowers his paperback and watches tensely as Dad leans forward in his chair and places a hand on Seth's head, fingers digging into Seth's hair. He uses the grip to yank Seth's head back, hard enough that Seth yelps in surprise and lifts his hands to try and fight it, catching himself just in time to force them back to his sides. _

 

_ Richie's own heartbeat fills his ears, and he wonders how Dad and Seth can't hear it, with the way it's hammering in his chest. _

 

_ "You know," Dad says thoughtfully, inspecting Seth like a farmer might do to prize livestock. "Your mouth really does look like your mother's." _

 

_ "I-" Seth starts to say, but Dad's grip on his hair pulls tight and Seth stumbles forward, catching himself on the arms of the chair. _

 

_ Dad's grin is mean, all teeth.  _

 

_ "Somebody oughta show you how to use it." _

 

_ Richie doesn't really understand but he  _ **_understands,_ ** _ through the inflection in Dad's voice and the strange way he's looking at Seth that this is Bad and he needs to do something before Dad does something first. He starts to scramble to his feet, tossing his forgotten book to the side. _

 

_ "One of you should be doing something useful around here," Dad continues. "Ungrateful little shits." _

 

_ That one he tosses Richie's way, with a dangerous glint in his eye that freezes Richie where he stands so soundly, he may as well have cast a spell to root Richie's feet to the floor.  _

 

_ Because despite everything, all Richie's tricks and diversions and the bravado he puts on for Seth - he's still terrified of Dad.  _

 

_ "I feed you, I buy your clothes, I put a roof over your head," Dad says, loosening his hold on Seth to pet his hair, an action that should seem innocuous coming from a parent, but from Dad just seems wrong. "What the fuck do I get in return? Nothing." _

 

_ Seth is trembling now, face stuck between a mixture of fear and confusion as Dad looks him up and down. _

 

_ "I- I'm sorry, I-I can do better," Seth says, in a reedy whisper. "I will do better." _

 

_ Richie begins to wonder if it's normal for a person to hold this much rage inside of them. _

 

_ "That's good, Seth," Dad says softly, almost  _ **_kind,_ ** _ the kindest Richie's heard him be to Seth since they were really, really small. "I think it's high time for you to learn your place." _

 

_ The rage turns blood boiling, electrifying, enough to make Richie forget he's been digging his nails into his palms until he's cut little red crescents into the skin. Seth's place is with  _ **_him,_ ** _ side by side, them against the world.  _

 

_ 'Leave him,' Richie tries to say. 'Leave him alone, don't touch him, don't even look at him, I hate you, I  _ **_hate_ ** _ you.' _

 

_ But none of it makes it past the mute clench of his teeth. _

 

_ Richie doesn't believe in God, or a higher power, but he starts believing in something when the phone rings, shrill and piercing over the laugh track on the TV. _

 

_ It rings once, twice, nobody moves, the machine is going to get it, the golden opportunity will be gone, and if Richie doesn't open his mouth Dad will -  _

 

_ "Aren't you gonna answer that?" Richie finds his voice again, though it comes out more like a croak, as though he hasn't used it in years. _

 

_ Dad lets his hand linger on Seth, running it down the side of his face before he drops it away entirely. _

 

_ "Get the phone, Richie," Dad says, when he settles back in his chair again. "Bring it to me." _

 

_ Richie goes, watching out of the corner of his eye as Seth backs up and puts distance between him and Dad, flattening himself into the doorway to the kitchen.  _

 

_ "I want to see you later, Seth," Dad says, without looking at him. "Don't you go too far." _

 

_ Richie's skin crawls as he hastily shoves the shrieking phone at Dad, whose attention mercifully shifts to it instead.  _

 

_ "Ray," Dad says when he picks up, but Richie doesn't stay to hear the rest. He glances back over to the doorway and finds it empty, but a soft click down the hall to the bedrooms is enough for him to figure out where Seth's gone. _

 

_ Richie's socked feet brush over the rough, unpolished floorboards as he follows Seth to their room. He doesn't bother to knock on the door, because it's his room too and Seth never shuts him out anyway. _

 

_ Inside he finds a Seth-shaped lump on that cheap mattress on the floor, buried under a pile of blankets.  _

 

_ That's sort of what Richie wants to do too, so he joins him, shuffling under the comforter and curling protectively around Seth's warm back, slinging an arm around his waist.  _

 

_ Neither of them say anything at first, but Seth squirms up against him after a second, taking a hold of Richie's arm and pulling it tighter around him. Seth's shivering all over even though it's hot enough between all the blankets and their combined body heat that Richie's on the verge of breaking a sweat.  _

 

_ "Richard, what did he mean before?" Seth asks after a while, in a tiny, quiet voice. _

 

_ "I don't know," Richie replies. "Nothing good." _

 

_ Richie presses a comforting palm to Seth's belly, pleased when Seth sighs and loses a little more of the tense from his body.  _

 

_ "I don't want to see him later," Seth says. "He seemed really different." _

 

_ "You won't. He's gonna forget like he always does." _

 

_ Though he wonders, even as he says it, if Seth had also picked up on the lucidity in Dad's eyes that spoke to a different, more concerning scenario. _

 

_ That maybe Dad hadn't been as many drinks in as Richie'd initially thought. _

 

_ That maybe those words weren't all spilt from the brain of a man too drunk to know what he's saying.  _

 

_ "But… maybe he won't hate me so much if I go see what he wants," Seth says.  _

 

_ "Don't you  _ **_dare,"_ ** _ Richie hisses. "Leave him alone." _

 

_ Seth shifts, and there's a scratching sound like he's picking at the sheets.  _

 

_ "I just wish I knew how to make him like me," Seth says, with a shuddery inhale. "Even when I do everything right, it's not enough." _

 

_ Richie hugs Seth tighter. "Well,  _ **_I_ ** _ like you a lot even when you mess up." _

 

_ Seth twists around to face him, or at least, Richie thinks he does - it's hard to tell in the pitch black under the blankets.  _

 

_ Then he tucks himself back in against Richie, head under Richie's chin, one arm clutching tightly around his chest.  _

 

_ "Promise you'll never leave me," Seth mumbles, muffled against Richie's neck. "Promise it's always gonna be us."  _

 

_ "Of course," Richie says. "I told you, Seth, it's you and me." _

 

_ Seth makes a soft noise of approval. "You an' me," he repeats.  _

 

_ Richie slides his fingers into Seth's hair and cards them through it, trying to replace Dad's violent tugs with his own gentle ones. Seth leans into it immediately, and finally seems to relax. _

 

_ "Feels nice," Seth says, in a sleepy murmur.  _

 

_ It's not long after that Seth's breathing goes deeper, and the death grip he's had around Richie's chest slackens. Richie keeps running his fingers through the strands until he's sure Seth's really out, not just dozing.  _

 

_ And then Richie lays there, awake for hours maybe, two or three or four. He listens for footsteps like a prisoner waiting for his executioner, twitching at every creak of the house.   _

 

_ It's long enough that his bladder is beginning to protest and he can't ignore it anymore, despite the terror he feels at the idea of leaving the safety of their cocoon.  _

 

_ He gives Seth's arm a tentative stroke and hopes he'll know it means 'back soon,' even though he's asleep. Then he scrambles up out of bed into the comparatively freezing air of their bedroom, wrapping his arms around himself and padding out of the room.  _

 

_ He makes sure to shut the door behind him, just in case.  _

 

_ The dark hallway feels like it stretches out for miles, walls surrounded by shadows. The only source of light is the orange glow of the lamp and the flicker of the TV in the living room at the end of the hall.  _

 

_ Richie practically tiptoes to the bathroom, wary of squeaky floorboards and the one nail near the left side of the hallway that nobody ever hammered in right. He does his business in the dim of the nightlight and scrubs his hands with bargain bar soap.  _

 

_ As Richie makes to go back to the bedroom, something - instinct, intuition,  _ **_fate_ ** _ \- stops him. It halts his feet where he stands and turns his gaze to the living room again.  _

 

_ He takes a step. And another, and another, until he's at the doorway to the living room peering through the curtain of wooden beads. _

 

_ Dad's still in his chair, right where they left him, phone on the floor beside his foot. There's a new bottle of rum on the table, half empty. _

 

_ It's hard to be sure if Dad's really sleeping, because he could be playing possum or he could be passed out or he could be dead, all of which are ideas Richie considers as he watches for the rise and fall of Dad's chest. _

 

_ It comes, eventually, accompanied by a snort before he stills again. _

 

_ Richie wishes it hadn't. He wishes Dad would just stop breathing, that he would just cease existing, that he would just go out one day and never come back. _

 

_ He remembers Dad's hand on Seth's head, how he'd been so gentle when he carded his fingers through Seth's hair. How he'd had a look on his face that meant something Richie didn't want to know.  _

 

_ A thin stream of smoke rises to Richie's right and he looks down at the smouldering stub of a cigarette, hanging loosely from Dad's fingers. _

 

_ Richie thinks of Seth's scared face and the tremble to his body as Dad touched him. Worse than a hit, worse than an insult, because at least the meaning there is obvious. At least punches make sense. _

 

_ Richie looks to his left and sees Dad's zippo sitting on the TV table, just refilled, a bottle of lighter fluid sitting beside it.  _

 

_ He picks up the bottle and turns it over in his hands.  _ **_DANGER, FLAMMABLE,_ ** _ it says, in screaming red on a fading white label. _

 

_ Richie knows what he has to do to. He knows it in his head and his heart and his guts and his bones.  _

 

_ "You're not going to hurt him again," Richie says aloud. "I won't let you." _

 

_ Dad shifts, resettles, still sound asleep. _

 

_ "I have to keep him safe." It's as close to an apology as Richie can muster.  _

 

_ The cap on the bottle pops off without a sound. _

 

\--

 

The emergency vehicles arrive just as the fire has begun to lick up the curtains in Dad's bedroom, must have spread all the way down the hallway now. It's probably in their room, burning up their clothes, their books, schoolbags, and photographs. Their entire lives, up in smoke.

 

But it's also taking Dad, and the guns, and all the awful memories Richie hopes he'll one day have the luxury to forget. 

 

He's afraid of the future, a new, wide stretch of nothing that seems to be spread out in front of them like a road never travelled, unmapped and unknown. Will him and Seth end up in an orphanage? Will they get split up into foster families, like the Williams brothers did at school?

 

Richie looks at Seth and sees his own fear reflected back at him, in teary brown eyes.

 

"It's gonna be okay, Seth," Richie says, as if he can really say whether they will or they won't. "We're gonna be fine."

 


	4. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all about how Richie is reacting to the fire, and it got way darker than I was expecting it to so warning for mentions of gore, child abuse, and allusions to child sexual abuse, though it's milder than it was last chapter.
> 
> (I promise it's ACTUALLY going to be happier after this)

 

\--

**April, 1996**

 

In the blackness behind his eyelids, Richie sees flames.

 

Seth is engulfed by them, held captive in Dad's arms. Seth struggles and begins to burn, reaching for Richie, but Richie's never fast enough.

 

Dad pulls Seth just out of reach, and they melt into an inferno together.

 

When Richie opens his eyes again, he's back in Seth's doorway with Seth sleeping, oblivious, mere feet away. Seth's got his arms wrapped around the bunched up pile of his comforter, sighing the sigh of someone having a gentle, pleasant dream.

 

Richie is envious of Seth's peace - it's been so long since Richie's had a decent night's sleep that he's nearly forgotten what it feels like not to be tired.

 

Over the last year Seth's shed his shyness like old snakeskin and begun to grow bold, slowly filling the cracks inside his shattered wall of confidence, one brick at a time. He's become the Seth that Richie'd always known was there, hidden away behind the docile shell he wrapped around himself to keep Dad at bay.

 

Seth doesn't need him anymore, not the way he used to. Now it's Richie who needs, needs far more than he can ask Seth to give when Seth's life is finally as close to apple pie as either of them will probably ever get.

 

They have their own rooms now and Seth asks Eddie when he needs something, not Richie. Seth doesn't tag along after Richie everywhere like his own personal living shadow.

 

Their closeness had never been something Richie gave much thought to before, it was just the way life was. Him and Seth were stuck together 'like two peas in a pod', as their first grade teacher used to say.

 

Richie feels the absence all the time, but he feels it most on nights like this one, when he wakes up sweating and scared from yet another nightmare and Seth is a trip down the hall instead of inches away, breathing the same air Richie is.

 

Richie just keeps telling himself it's enough just to know that Seth is fine, Dad is gone, and they're at Eddie's. They're safe.

 

His eyes are beginning to burn with tiredness, and he rubs them with his knuckles. He doesn't usually spend more than a minute or two here to calm himself down when the nightmares are too much to handle, but lately he's been taking more time lingering at Seth’s door because the thought of going back to his own bedroom is becoming harder and harder to bare.

 

He looks at Seth one last time before he forces himself to turn away, back to the blackness of the hall. He imagines he can see the same glow at the end of the hallway as he did when Dad died and pictures his father laying in wait, ready to turn Richie's dreams to flames and the rest of him to ashes, one sleepless night at a time.

 

\--

 

The next morning, class drags. Richie nearly falls asleep in science, barely makes it through spelling, and stares blankly at the clock through the first half of math. Each tick of the second hand feels like an eternity, backed by the even drone of Mrs. Miller's voice as she scrawls out fractions in chalk on the board.

 

He knows he needs to pay attention, there's a test next week and he's nowhere near ready for it, but he's just so _tired_ and it's a few degrees too hot in the room and the thought of shutting his eyes for a second is becoming more and more attractive the longer he sits here, struggling just to keep himself conscious.

 

A sharp rap on his desk breaks him out of his reverie and he blinks in confusion, looking up to find Mrs. Miller staring down at him sternly through thick glasses.

 

"Am I boring you, Richie?" she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Richie shakes his head quickly. "No. No! Ma'am, I'm-"

 

"Then pay attention, Mister Gecko," Mrs. Miller snaps, cutting him off before he can finish protesting. "Judging by your results on last week's quiz, you need it."

 

Richie shrinks down in his chair at the memory of the big red D he'd found at the top of his math quiz. It's the kind of grade he's unused to getting, and the thought of it sends a wave of nausea cramping through his belly.

 

The class titters as Mrs. Miller goes back to the board to continue the lesson, shooting Richie one final warning glance before she turns her back to them.

 

Something jabs his back a moment later and he knows it's Seth, who sits in the desk behind him. He ignores it, even when Seth does it again, harder, knuckling between his shoulder blades where it aches and hurts and makes Richie want to twist away.

 

"Quit it," he finally hisses under his breath, when Seth does it a third time.

 

Seth stops, but a minute later a scrunched up scrap of notepaper lands on Richie's desk. Richie glances at Mrs. Miller but she's caught up in talking again, so he takes a chance on unfurling the note and spreads it flat on his desk.

 

_you ok?_

 

That's all it says, in Seth's untidy scrawl. The rest of the page is covered in doodles, because that's the only thing Seth seems to do at school.

 

Richie crumples up the note and shoves it into his binder. He tries his best to focus for the rest of the class, though he's pretty sure by the time it's over that he hasn't absorbed a thing.

 

\--

 

Lunch is a pile of meat in flavorless sauce, with the halves of a bun swimming somewhere in the pool of it.

 

Richie hates sloppy joe day.

 

"You didn't answer me in class," Seth says, somewhat put-out. He drops his tray to the table beside Richie's with a clatter. "What happened? Mrs. Miller usually loves you."

 

"I'm tired, that's all," Richie replies. He shoves a soggy bun across his paper plate, debating the merits of going hungry until the end of the day versus forcing himself to eat any of his meal.

 

"You've been tired a lot lately," Seth says, through a mouthful of food. He swallows and places a hand on Richie's shoulder. "Are you really okay?"

 

"I'm fine," Richie says, a little too forcefully. He nudges his untouched tray toward the middle of the table, giving himself space to rest his head on his arms.

 

Seth doesn't look convinced, but for once he doesn't push. "Hey, by the way," he says thoughtfully, "did we ever collect on the test answers we got for Adam last month?"

 

Richie fixes a lone eye on Seth, thankful that the conversation has shifted away from him. "When I asked him a few weeks ago he told me he paid you," Richie replies. "He didn't?"

 

"I would have split it with you if he had." Seth's expression darkens into a scowl.

 

Richie winces. He should have remembered to confirm it with Seth, but it must have slipped his mind, lost in the jumble of everything else.

 

They've been running this racket with test cheat sheets for the better part of this year, but this is the first time anyone's given them trouble. Funny that it'd be Adam Jones, who's probably the smallest, weakest kid in their entire grade.

 

"I knew doing it for him was a bad idea," Seth mutters, lifting another forkful of drippy meat. "Where was a wimpy trailer park kid like him gonna get that kind of money?"

 

Richie stands up to search the faces in the cafeteria, spotting Adam in the opposite corner, sitting alone. Irritation at his own screw up burns as he watches Adam clean up the remains of his discount school lunch.

 

Seth stands up too, straining to follow Richie’s sightline over the sea of heads in the cafeteria. "We gotta collect," he says. "Bad for business if it gets out that we let this slide."

 

Richie notes the tense of Seth's shoulders as Adam leaves through the side doors, probably heading to the schoolyard. "Keep it cool," Richie warns, as Seth slides off the bench and to his feet.

 

"You coming?" Seth asks, his jaw set in an angry jut.

 

Richie really doesn't want to do this right now, not when he just wants to put his head down and disappear, but he abandons their trays to follow Seth through the jumble of kids and tables.

 

Seth shoves the door open and steps into the blinding sun, both of them squinting as their eyes adjust to the light. Immediately Richie spots their target bouncing a basketball near the edge of the yard, alone.

 

"Over there," Richie says, pointing surreptitiously in Adam's direction.

 

Seth inclines his head in a nod of acknowledgement and sidles over, hands in his pockets, cool as a cucumber. Richie trails after him, hanging a foot or so back behind Seth.

 

"Where's our money, Adam?" It's still strange to Richie to hear Seth sound so _in control,_ so confident in himself and the both of them to get exactly what they want.

 

Adam's eyes widen and the basketball rolls away to the grass, forgotten. He's so little for a kid their age; even smaller than Seth used to be, wearing a striped shirt with a hole at the collar and a shabby pair of chucks.

 

"I-I gave it to you," Adam says nervously. "Remember?"

 

"You know full well you didn’t give me _shit,"_ Seth says, stepping up so he's right in Adam's baby fat-chubby face. "My brother 'n' I don't like liars, Jones."

 

Seth pauses like he's waiting for Richie to chime in, but Richie remains quiet. He's sure that anything his exhausted brain could come up with now would only take away from Seth's routine, so he just plasters on a scowl and tries his best to seem intimidating.

 

Adam looks at Seth, then back at Richie, starting to look more and more like a quivering prey animal the longer they stare him down.

 

"Okay, okay, I don't have it right now," Adam confesses, holding out his hands in front of him. "I had to spend it, I -"

 

"You requested a service," Seth cuts him off. "We delivered, and you got yourself an A-plus science test. Now _you_ gotta deliver. You seeing how this works?"

 

"I know, I'm sorry Seth. Please, I'll get it." Adam looks near tears, pudgy lower lip starting to wibble.

 

"We've already given you enough time." Seth draws himself up to his full height, glaring down at Adam. Even when he’s posturing like this, Seth's only a few inches taller. "Where did all that money go, huh?"

 

"I used it to buy my sister a birthday present," Adam sniffles. "My Mom an' Dad couldn't get much for her this year."

 

A birthday present.

 

What little fight Richie’d had remaining in him fades away entirely. He'd have done the same thing for Seth in a heartbeat, consequences be damned.

 

They can afford to give him a little more time, can't they? It's not like they're hard up for cash the way they used to be.

 

He glances at Seth and finds Seth looking back uncertainly, an indecisive twist to his lips.

 

And then Dad’s voice suddenly fills Richie's head, a dull roar that fuzzes the rest of the world into static.

 

**_Don’t you quit._ **

 

**_Don’t you fucking quit on me now._ **

 

_Richie's in the kitchen, choking back a fresh wave of tears as he pushes a sewing needle through the two halves of a gash on the thigh of a man he's never even met. Dad is crouched to Richie's left, cigarette smoked down to the filter hanging from his lips as he directs the operation, jaundiced eyes tracking every move Richie makes._

 

_Seth is silent, watchful, hovering a few feet away with a damp rag and a half empty bottle of gin._

 

**_What good are either of you gonna be to me if you can't even stomach the sight of blood?_ **

 

_The man suddenly hocks a clump of pink tinged spit to the floor beside Richie’s shin. Richie fumbles the needle and it drops, glittering, to the side of the man's leg, swinging to a stop by the tether of the thread._

 

**_Hurry up._ **

 

_Richie gets a hold of the needle again, hesitating when he looks back at the wound. It's started oozing again, thick red rivulets running down to stain the torn edges of the man’s jeans. The sight turns his stomach, and he swallows a retch before it can surface._

 

**_Are you a pussy, Richard?_ **

 

_When Richie stays motionless, Dad claps him on the shoulder, hard._

 

**_Did I raise a goddamn pussy?_ **

 

"Shut up!" Richie shouts, not sure if it's at Adam or Dad or Seth or all of them, or at the whole world for being too _damn_ loud. It's like a firecracker has gone off inside Richie's body and he's eight years old again, can't think straight, can't see straight, just sees crimson and torn flesh and the obstacle standing in his way, in Seth's way, in _their_ way.

 

_Richie’s reply is a vicious stab of the needle through the man’s flesh, and Dad howls with laughter as Richie pulls the thread through._

 

**_Atta boy, Richie. You show your brother how it's done._ **

 

Richie _will,_ he'll show everyone, Dad especially, teach him for thinking they're weak, that they're useless, that they'll never be anything but a black smudge on the Gecko family tree.

 

"If you don’t cough up forty bucks in the next five seconds, you’re gonna be _real. fuckin’. sorry,"_ Richie snarls.

 

Seth starts to tug at Richie's arm, vying for his attention, but Richie shakes him off.

 

Adam’s doe eyes shine wet with fear. "Well I...I guess I could give you my Gameboy," he whispers. "It's pretty new, and it's worth way more than-"

 

Richie shoves him. It's not supposed to be a hard shove, just enough to scare him, maybe get more than a Gameboy out of him.

 

But Adam reels back and stumbles, and slips backward before any of them can do anything. He lands hard on the pavement, catching himself on his elbows.

 

Adam's face immediately crumples into a wail, which only increases in pitch when he looks at one of his elbows, the skin now shredded by stones and welling with blood.

 

_"Richard,"_ Seth hisses, as both of them just stand there, equally dumbstruck. "What the hell?"

 

Richie looks down at his hands and they're shaking, his entire body is shaking and he hadn't wanted to do that, he didn't want to hurt this kid, _why had he done that?_

 

A tight hand suddenly wraps around Richie’s arm and yanks him to the side. Seth yelps and Richie knows he's caught too, not that a stealthy escape was much of an option with Adam shrieking like an air raid siren.

 

"What on earth is going on here?" Mrs. Miller asks, as she begins dragging him and Seth in the direction of the main doors. "What is _wrong_ with you two?"

 

The other teacher on yard duty is rushing over to help Adam to his feet, and nausea overtakes Richie’s guts in a sickening wave.

 

Mrs. Miller leads them to the principal's office in cold, stoney silence. Seth gets sent to see Mr. Hall first, probably because he's the one who's no stranger to the principal - Richie gets to wait with Mrs. Miller on the bench outside the door.

 

Once Richie’s seated, Mrs. Miller tucks a graying strand of hair behind her ear and kneels in front of him, eye level, brows drawn in concern. "You're better than this, Richie."

 

"Maybe I'm not," Richie whispers. He takes off his glasses and pretends to wipe off a smudge, just so he has an excuse not to stare back at her worried face.

 

"I understand that you lost your father last year," she says quietly, glancing around for any other kids who may be able to overhear. "But you can't take that anger out on others."

 

Richie seals his lips and doesn't answer. He doesn't want to talk to her, or Mr. Hall, or anybody else. He just wants to go home.

 

\--

 

They get chewed out by Mr. Hall and two weeks detention, and Seth gives Richie the silent treatment until the bus drops them off at four thirty, to a thankfully empty house. Richie’s not sure he’s up to listening to the lecture they’ll get once Eddie catches wind of this.

 

"What was that earlier?" Seth snaps at Richie, the second they crowd in through the front door. "He was gonna give us a Gameboy, what did you have to go and do that for?"

 

"Leave me alone." Richie kicks his shoes off and makes for the stairs, but Seth works his way in front of him and blocks the hallway.

 

"No," Seth says stubbornly. "If we're gonna be partners you can't just do stuff without telling me."

 

"I made the wrong decision this time, big whoop," Richie replies, trying to sidestep Seth, who keeps him trapped with his body. "I thought you trusted me."

 

"I trust you when you're not acting like a total _psycho,"_ Seth exclaims.

 

Something about that stings Richie deeper than Seth had probably intended it to, and he attempts to push past Seth again. "Leave me alone, I mean it," Richie says quietly. "I don't want to talk about this."

 

Seth's expression shifts from angry to more like concerned, drawn brows and pursed lips.

 

Richie puts a palm on Seth's chest, and though he doesn't push he makes it clear that he will if Seth doesn't get out of his way.

 

Seth drops his arms and lets Richie by, though he follows Richie up the stairs to his bedroom. Richie goes inside and drops his backpack, leaving Seth to hover just beyond the threshold.

 

"Richie, come on, just tell me what's wrong," Seth pleads.

 

_"Fuck off, Seth,"_ Richie barks, and slams the door in Seth's shocked face.

 

There's a soft whushing noise on the other side of the door, like Seth's running his palm down the wood.

 

Then footsteps retreat down the hall, and another door slams shut.

 

Richie goes and curls up on his bed, tucking himself into the corner where two walls meet, telling himself he's not going to cry. This is the first time he's blocked Seth out so completely, forcing him out of his bubble and his space and his life.

 

More than anything, Richie wishes he could let him in.

 

\--

 

_Dad is in his chair in their old living room, burning, wearing a cheshire grin so wide it should split his head in two._

 

_He sort of reminds Richie of Hades from Hercules, except there's nothing funny about the flaming figure in front of him now - reddening skin bubbled with blisters, eyeballs burst in their sockets from the heat. There's a hole where the flesh of his left cheek used to be, flashing yellowed teeth and a bloody, charred tongue._

 

_Seth is standing in front of Dad, head bowed to the floor, with one of Dad's sizzling, skinless hands gripping each arm around the elbow._

 

**_Look at him, Richard. Isn't he too soft for a boy?_ **

 

_Richie screams but no sound comes out, he tries to run but he's rooted, stuck where he stands._

 

**_Isn't he just too kind?_ **

 

_Dad strokes Seth's front and the flames singe his t-shirt, making him start to squirm._

 

**_Seth would hate you if he knew what you did._ **

 

_Dad's face splits into a grin that stretches wider than should be possible._

 

**_What kind of a son kills his own father?_ **

 

_Seth is starting to twist in Dad's grip as the fire burns through his clothes and reaches his skin, red welts beginning to appear everywhere Dad is touching him._

 

_This is where Richie usually wakes, but this time he doesn't. This time, it continues, and Seth finally raises his head. His eyes are black and empty, just like Dad's._

 

_Richie feels like he's going to split apart._

 

**_You killed him, Richard._ **

 

_Seth's voice is a dull drone, the way it would get when Dad was too rough with him. When he opens his mouth the inside of it is dancing orange, like there's a fire burning down in his belly._

 

**_You're a murderer._ **

 

_All of a sudden Seth is in front of him. Nose to nose, empty eyes glistening. Cheeks beginning to bubble and redden._

 

**_You're going to burn like him one day._ **

 

_Seth smiles, but it's not a nice smile. It's full of teeth and bad intent, the same way Dad used to look at Seth._

 

**_You're going to burn. like. him._ **

 

\--

 

Richie wakes up to a scream playing at the back of his throat. He feels instinctively for Seth beside him like he so often used to be, then scrambles up and looks over the edge of his bed as if Seth might still be there on a mattress below.

 

All that's there is the rag rug and scattered GI Joes and the hazy image of his father cackling.

 

Richie shakes his head and slaps his cheeks until the dream is gone and his skin is warm and stinging, and he feels more alone than ever. He can't even recall when he passed out.

 

The nightmare has never felt quite that real before, never so vivid, never so hot.

 

And he wants - no, _needs_ \- to see Seth.

 

Richie's up before he can talk himself out of it, stumbling on sleep-heavy soles down the hall. Eddie's snoring, the house is quiet, everything's normal except for Richie, kicked up with adrenaline, pushing Seth's mostly shut door open without a sound.

 

Seth isn't there.

 

His sheets are all piled to one side and there's a shallow little dip on the mattress where he'd been, but it's cold and empty, and icy panicked fingers are starting to wrap themselves around Richie's heart, squeezing.

 

_Where has Seth gone?_

 

Richie checks the bathroom, but it's empty. He even pokes his head into Eddie's room but Seth's not there either.

 

Richie takes the stairs to the main floor two at a time, because if Seth isn't down here then he's not anywhere and that would mean something's happened to Seth, something bad -

 

A dim light winks into existence in the kitchen and then the fridge door shuts with the clatter of jars.

 

And Seth is there, standing by the sink and drinking milk straight from the carton, buttery streetlight illuminating the sleepy muss of his hair.

 

Seth sets the milk down and catches sight of Richie. "Richard? What-"

 

Richie doesn't even let him finish. He grabs Seth around the middle and collapses into him with a gut wrenching sob. Seth's okay. Seth's fine. He's here, not with Dad, not eyeless and burnt up and dead in his bed.

 

"Hey, hey," Seth says, wrapping warm, familiar arms around Richie's shoulders. "What's wrong, buddy?"

 

Richie just shakes his head and buries his face in Seth's shoulder, hugging Seth so tight he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to pry himself away again.

 

"Rich?" Seth asks cautiously. Richie wants to say something to reassure him but now that the tears have started he can't seem to make them stop, each sob like a _force_ that wracks through Richie's body.

 

"I did it," Richie murmurs, muffled into Seth's shirt collar. "I did it, it was my fault, I did it, IdiditIdiditIdidit-"

 

Seth starts to gently shove Richie back, but Richie clings on to him as though he'll fall to his death if he doesn't. "What?" Seth asks, bewildered. "Richie, c'mon, talk to me."

 

"I just want him to go away."

 

_"Who?"_ Seth insists. "Is this about that Jones kid? Or do I need to go get Eddie?"

 

"It's Dad," Richie whispers, fitting his arm in between them to scrub at his damp eyes with his sleeve. "Dad won't get out of my head."

 

Richie hates the brief twinge of genuine fear on Seth's face. Maybe Seth was right, and Richie really is a total psycho.

 

"It's okay," Seth soothes. "I get it."

 

Richie recognizes Seth's tone as a copy of his own, the same one he'd use for Seth when he didn't know if anything was okay but he knew what Seth needed to hear.

 

"I dream about him sometimes too," Seth adds. "The fire wasn't anyone's fault. Just bad luck."

 

_I killed him for you._

 

It's on the tip of Richie's tongue, hovering, waiting. Threatening like boiling water, ready to bubble over the edge.

 

_Would you really hate me if you knew?_

 

"I just… I wish he hadn't had to go like that," Seth says, palm running a gentle circle around Richie's shoulder blades. "Nobody deserves to go like that."

 

Richie stiffens a little and Seth's palm stops, resting along the ridge of Richie's spine.

 

"I think he just wanted what was best for us."

 

Richie swallows hard around the lump in his throat.

 

He can never tell him. Seth can never know, he'll never understand why Richie did it. Seth's too focused on seeing the good in people to stop and look for the bad too; he doesn't want to dig deep enough to find the rotten core beneath the muddied, gray exterior.

 

Richie clings to Seth longer than he should and cries until the tears taper away into hiccups, and the hiccups soften into sniffles, and eventually he starts to feel like he can breathe again without Seth pressed against him.

 

"We should go back to bed," Seth says softly, glancing at the clock on the stove. Richie takes a slow step back and rubs the remainder of the tears from his cheeks. The shoulder of Seth’s shirt is soaked but he doesn’t seem to notice. "Alright?"

 

Richie nods mutely, afraid to open his mouth and accidentally spill too much. He feels like some dumb, useless baby who can’t handle anything on his own.

 

He wants to ask Seth to come with him more than anything, but he just leaves Seth alone to put the milk away, navigating back upstairs by moonlight and the distant glow of the nightlight in the bathroom.

 

Once Richie's tucked back into bed again and turned off the light it’s three thirty and it barely feels worth it to go back to sleep again. But a minute or two later soft footsteps sound outside his door, and then _inside_ his room and all of a sudden a something is thumping onto the mattress beside him, jostling him into the wall.

 

"Seth?" Richie asks tentatively.

 

"Hey," Seth says as he nestles in against him, tugging Richie's arm around his waist when Richie doesn't put it there right away.

 

"You don't have to," Richie whispers. Shame at his weakness, at how much he wants this, floods through him like a wave. "You should just go. I'm okay."

 

"Don't be stupid," Seth says simply, rubbing a soft spot of skin around Richie's wrist with his thumb. "You know, I'm sure what happened at lunch today was a one off thing. You just freaked out or something, it could happen to anyone."

 

It was more than that and Richie's sure they both know it. "It's still my fault."

 

"And I don't know what else you think you did, but you're not one of the bad guys, Richard. I know you're not."

 

Hot tears prick Richie's eyes. "I hope you're right," he says, quiet enough that Seth probably doesn't hear it at all.

 

\--

 

Richie's still tired the next morning, but he feels better rested than he has in a long while. Even Eddie comments that he seems more chipper when Richie passes him on his way out to catch the school bus.

 

Richie feels so good today, in fact, that he wolfs down his lunch quick so he can go to the school library and make a dent in the stack of homework that's been piling up over the week. Seth has a meeting about his grades with their homeroom teacher so Richie leaves him in the cafeteria with a promise to meet up before gym class.

 

Richie's just laid his math textbook out on his usual desk in the back of the library when he feels someone behind him, eyes boring into his back. Richie twists in his chair to see Adam, shoulders hunched, hangdog look on his face, holding something out in two bandaged palms.

 

"Um, Richie?" Adam says, scuffing the ground with a beat up toe. "Got a minute?"

 

Richie shoves his textbook aside and stands up. "What do you want?"

 

Adam's knobby elbows have a bandaid each, one of the big ones that looks like the patch on the elbows of an academic's jacket. He somehow looks even smaller than he did before, shrinking down and away from Richie.

 

"I brought it," Adam says, whisper quiet. "The Gameboy."

 

Richie finally notices the object in Adam's hands, a brick of bright shock yellow plastic. It's shiny, just like new.

 

"Please take care of it." Adam's sigh is full of resignation.

 

Richie holds out his hand to take it, but stops abruptly when his fingertips brush the case.

 

_You're not one of the bad guys, Richard._

 

_I know you're not._

 

Richie lets his hand drop back to his side. "Keep it."

 

"What?" Adam asks. "But-"

 

_"Keep it,"_ snaps Richie. "Before I change my mind."

 

Adam clutches the Gameboy to his chest and positively _beams_ at Richie. "Thank you, _thanks,_ I mean-"

 

"Just give me what you've got in your pocket and we'll call it even."

 

Enthusiastically, Adam digs into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled mess of dollar bills. Richie doesn't even bother to count it before he stuffs the bills into his hoodie.

 

"Now get lost," Richie hisses. He glances around the room to see if anyone saw their exchange, but nobody's ever in the library at lunch, much less in the corner Richie likes to squirrel himself away in.

 

"I- yeah, okay." Adam hesitates a moment, standing there in front of Richie with that doofy grin.

 

"Don't tell anyone about this," Richie adds. "Or I'll get you worse than I did yesterday."

 

Adam nods fervently as he hurries away, nearly running smack into Seth as he rounds the bookshelf.

 

"Watch it, shrimp," Seth says, glaring at Adam's retreating back.

 

Richie can't keep his mouth from quirking at the corners at the sight of _Seth,_ of all people, calling someone a shrimp.

 

"He paid up?" Seth asks.

 

Richie grabs the bunch of bills and hands them to Seth. "You keep this." Richie's pretty sure it's no more than five bucks, but Seth deserves it more than he does - this whole mess was Richie's fault to begin with.

 

Seth cocks his head at the money.

 

"Did you count this, math genius? 'Cause this doesn't look like forty bucks. Or a Gameboy."

 

"I couldn't take that thing from him. Not after I..." Richie trails off, all parts guilty and bad and strangely fuzzy all at once. "We'd just have sold it anyway."

 

"You mean he offered it to you," Seth says slowly. "And you said no."

 

Richie shrugs and looks down at his shoes. "Didn't feel right."

 

Seth's incredulity softens into something a lot like affection. "We'll do better on the next one," he declares, cuffing Richie gently on the ear. "We just gotta get your head on straight, huh?"

 

"Guess so," Richie mumbles.

 

Seth lets his fingers rest right around the base of Richie's neck, gentle and comforting. "Don’t worry," Seth says. "It’s my turn to help you."

 

\--

 

Eddie finally listens to the answering machine after dinner that night - and they should have thought to check for messages for one from Mr. Hall, damn it, because the lecture is about as agonizing as Richie had expected. The worst part about Eddie's lectures is the disappointment; he doesn't get angry, he just gets this hurt look like them not doing their homework or starting a fight at school is as good a betrayal as a knife in the back.

 

Richie goes back to his room after, trying and failing to focus on his homework before he gives up and tucks his binder back into his bag again. He's just about to switch off the light and go to sleep when Seth pads into the room in his pyjamas, pillow under his arm.

 

"I never wanna go through that again," Seth exclaims. "I swear Eddie's got some kind of superpower for making people feel guilty."

 

Richie squints at him, half blind without his glasses, and props himself up on his elbows. "Uh, Seth? You lost?"

 

Seth comes close enough for Richie to see the unimpressed look on his face. "Move over," Seth orders, dropping his pillow on the mattress, half on top of Richie's.

 

Richie shifts obediently and Seth shoves Richie's pillow against the wall, mashing his own into the space and flopping down beside Richie with the sound of protesting springs.

 

"I'm sleeping over," Seth says, matter of fact.

 

Richie's chest tightens up as Seth makes himself comfortable, tugging the heavy comforter over them both.

 

They're quiet a while, laying there side by side in the dark, long enough that Richie's halfway to nodding off to the soft lull of Seth's breathing when Seth speaks.

 

"You feel any better?"

 

"Think so," Richie murmurs, reaching out to wrap an arm around Seth. "I missed this," he adds, after a moment. "I don't like it when you aren't here."

 

"Don't you like having a room to yourself?" asks Seth. "I always thought you must have been sick of having me around all the time."

 

"No," Richie replies softly. "Not at all."

 

There's a pause, just a split second too long. "You know, you probably shouldn't have said that," Seth says, the hint of a smile in his voice. "Now you're never getting rid of me."

 

"I think I can deal with that," Richie whispers, and hugs Seth closer to his chest.

 

\--

 

For the first time since the fire, Richie doesn't dream anything at all.

 


	5. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much all cute fluff for a change! Warning for some underage (12/13) kissing in this chapter - it's not intended to be seen as sexual but I figured I'd warn for it anyway.
> 
> You can see how behind I am on this fic because I originally wanted to post this chapter on Halloween… but my perfectionism took over and even though I had this chapter written before most of the rest of this story it still took me an eternity to decide it was decent enough to post.

\--

**October, 1997**

 

Halloween is Richie's favourite holiday. Maybe that's strange, considering the horror show he and Seth spent the first decade of their lives in, but both of them have always had a fondness for the novelty of dressing up, not to mention the weird and wonderful world of B-tier scary movies that show up on TV this time of year.

 

It was the one night where Richie felt he could be as cool as someone like Michael Corleone or Tony Montana, even with the way Dad would roll his eyes and scoff at Richie and Seth in the thrift store costumes that took weeks of conning lunch money out of the other kids at school and saving Richie's meagre allowance to afford. 

 

This year, Richie's taking a break from the gangster movies to be Ian Malcolm (mostly because of Jeff Goldblum, and because dinosaurs are  _ awesome). _ Seth's dressed as Batman, outfit complete with an oversized padded chest and a bulky utility belt.

 

"I still think you should have been Robin," Seth pouts as they walk past a gaggle of kindergarten-age trick or treaters, headed up the street. "Who's gonna know you're Dr. Malcolm? You just look like a regular guy." 

 

"It's all in the aura, brother," Richie says, adjusting his shades with a dramatic flourish. "Besides, when is Robin ever taller than Batman?" 

 

Seth makes a face and kicks a rock out onto the street. "You're not  _ that _ much taller anymore."

 

They reach the next house and turn up the walk. It's big, expensive looking in that gargoyle statues and trimmed hedges kind of way, and it's decked to the gills in Halloween decorations. 

 

Richie inspects the painted foam tombstones and plastic skeletons in the front yard as they walk up to the open door. There's already a group in front of them, a somewhat familiar looking girl about his and Seth's age in a Cinderella costume, accompanied by two teenagers dressed like Adam and Barbara from _ Beetlejuice. _

 

Adam turns to them, teased hair flopping over his forehead. "You heard about the full size candy bars too, huh?" he asks Richie.

 

They're not from this neighbourhood so they hadn't, but it's a widely accepted fact that the rich houses have the best candy, unless they're dentists or doctors or the kind of buzzkills who offer floss and a toothbrush or boxes of raisins.

 

"Mrs. Turner just went inside to get more," Barbara adds. "Too many kids were taking more than their share."

 

Richie groans and glances at Seth, intending to ask him if he thinks the wait is worth it, but Seth's attention is elsewhere. He's looking at Cinderella, who's looking back shyly and holding her pumpkin shaped candy bucket in dainty hands. 

 

"Hey Seth," she says, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I like your costume." 

 

"I like yours too," Seth replies. "You look really nice."

 

"Thank you." Cinderella says brightly. "You going to the dance next Friday?"

 

"I was thinking about it," Seth says. He's going for casual, but the way he's fiddling with a fold on his pillowcase gives away his unease.

 

Richie absorbs the exchange between Seth and Cinderella with a strange sense of discomfort growing inside him. It's a sense of being shut out, of not knowing the whole story, of suddenly being relegated to extra instead of co-star in his own life.

 

"I hope I'll see you there," Cinderella chirps, aiming a beaming smile at Seth that just grates on Richie's nerves.

 

"Ye- yeah. Me too." Seth scuffs the toe of his sneaker on the concrete as the conversation lulls. Cinderella looks like she wants to say more, but her gaze flits briefly to Richie and she turns away to talk to Barbara instead. 

 

With Cinderella mercifully occupied, Richie elbows Seth in the side. "Seth," Richie hisses, "c'mon, let's just go. It's getting late, we're not gonna have time to hit the rest of the street."

 

"Cut it out," Seth hisses back, batting him away just as an older woman with bleach blonde hair - presumably Mrs. Turner - appears in the doorway, a bowl of chocolate bars held in one hand. 

 

"Sorry," Mrs. Turner says sheepishly, holding out the bowl. "We had a lot more come through this Halloween than last year." She perks up when she takes a better look at Adam and Barbara. "Beetlejuice, right?" 

 

"That's right, Mrs. T," Adam says, hooking an arm around Barbara's waist and drawing her to his side. He plants a dramatic kiss to her lips as she giggles and tries to shove him away.

 

Mrs. Turner laughs indulgently and hands him an extra full size KitKat bar. "You both stay out of trouble tonight," she says as she sets the bowl back out on the table by the door and turns to go back inside. "Sara, keep an eye on your big sister," she calls to Cinderella, just as she's shutting the door behind her.

 

"Of course," Cinderella - no, _Sara_ says sweetly, picking her prize and glancing over at Seth again. "I'll see you at school on Monday, Seth," she says.

 

She waves in their direction and rushes down the driveway after her sister.

 

"You coming?" Seth asks Richie, in an odd voice that reeks of forced normalcy. "We gotta hurry if we're going to do the rest of the street."

 

Richie squints at him. He's burning with questions but he's not going to get much out of grilling Seth on this woman's doorstep anyway, so he lets him off the hook. "Yeah, fine. Let's go."

 

Seth visibly relaxes and they both take their candy, and Richie thinks for a moment that the rest of the night might turn out fine - but once they're back walking up the street, Seth goes quiet, almost pensive, leaving Richie to solo the  _ "trick or treats," _ and the thank yous.

 

Eventually Richie gets fed up, between Seth not responding much and the fact that most of the neighbourhood has gone dark now anyway. 

 

"Should we just go back and wait for Eddie?" Richie snaps, after the fifth house of Seth unenthusiastically grabbing a handful of candy and trailing along behind him.

 

Seth has the gall to look surprised, though it's a little hard to see behind the cowl over his face. "There are still some houses over there with lights," he says, pointing ahead of them. "I thought you wanted to hit this whole street."

 

"Not if you're just going to walk around like a zombie," Richie says. 

 

Seth sighs, stops walking, and they halt in front of a dark ranch style house with a stone wall bordering the yard. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Sara," he says. "I felt like it would jinx it if I said anything to anyone." 

 

Richie leans back against the scratchy stone, resigning himself to the end of their candy collecting. "Jinx what?" 

 

"I think she actually likes me," Seth mumbles. "But I don't know what to do about it."

 

"Do you like her?"

 

Seth's slow nod is uncharacteristically shy. "We're in the same group for science."

 

That explains why Richie's never met Sara before, science is the one class he doesn't have with Seth this year. "Then what's the problem? You like her, she seems to like you." 

 

"I just - what if she ever wants me to kiss her or something?" 

 

"So?" Richie asks irritably. "Why's that such a big deal?"

 

"Well," Seth says. "How am I supposed to know if I'm good at it or not? I really like her, Richie, I don't want to screw anything up."

 

"I don't know, it's just putting your lips on someone else's. That isn't very hard."

 

Seth sighs and pops a fun-size chocolate bar into his mouth. "I guess I just wish I could get the first one over with, so it doesn't seem so scary."

 

Richie chews on his reply for a moment, deciding whether or not he should bring it up. "You kissed me when we were nine, remember?"

 

Seth takes off his cowl as a younger group of trick or treaters walk by them, concerned parents scanning their faces like they're getting ready to ID them from the back of a milk carton. 

 

"You kinda kissed me after Dad -" Seth pauses and looks down at the sidewalk. "After, well. You know. So what?"

 

"Then you already got the first one over with," Richie says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Stop worrying so much."

 

Seth gives him a look that's halfway to exasperated, as though Richie's intentionally making this more difficult than it has to be. "You're my brother, siblings don't count," Seth replies, once the group has moved out of earshot. "Besides, that was different."

 

"How was it different?" 

 

"Because you're - you're you, and I've known you forever." Seth sounds a little flustered, picking at a scratch on his mask. "It wouldn't be like that with anyone else."

 

Something in Richie's gut does a strange little flip, but before he can reply a familiar car pulls up alongside them, with an incensed Uncle Eddie in the front seat. He rolls down the window and glares at them. 

 

"What did I tell you?" Eddie asks sternly. "Eight-thirty, outside the school."

 

Richie blanches and rolls up his too-long sleeve to look at his watch. Eight-fifty two. Crap.

 

"You had me worried sick." Eddie pops the locks and Richie pulls the back door open, because he and Seth both know better than to argue about shotgun with Eddie's glare fixed on them both.

 

"I would have thought Dr. Malcolm would have more sense than this," Eddie says, twisting to face them as they clamber into the backseat. "Batman, I'd expect to go rogue, but you- you've got a doctorate."

 

Eddie's smile is mischievous and Richie groans in unison with Seth, blinking at the brightness as he finally takes off his sunglasses.

 

"You boys get a good haul this year? Better than our neighbourhood, huh?" 

 

Last year they had stuck around Eddie's place and they barely ended up with enough candy to partway fill a single one of those little pumpkin pails.

 

"Lots," Seth says enthusiastically, opening his pillowcase to show Eddie.

 

Eddie ruffles Seth's hair. "Don't eat all that in one night," he warns. "You too, Richard."

 

Richie pauses in the middle of tearing open a package of Skittles. "No way," he says innocently. "Wouldn't dream of it."

 

As the car settles into a comfortable silence (though it's one punctuated by the crinkle of candy wrappers), Richie looks over at Seth, watching the passing streetlights play across his brother's face. He's gone pensive again, like he was earlier, chin resting on the heel of his hand as he stares out the window. 

 

Richie wonders what Seth's thinking. If it's about Sara, her sweet smiles and pretty hair and what it would be like to kiss her. Or if it's about Richie, and what it  _ was _ like, when Seth touched their lips together and it was like everything and nothing all at once. 

 

It was never a moment that Richie dwelled too much on. It was just another thing that happened before Everything Else that happened, and it had never seemed too far out of the ordinary. But now it's too easy to wonder why Seth had thought to kiss him that day, out of all the days he could have and didn't. 

 

Though Richie really shouldn't, though things are so much better now than they were, a tiny pang of loss aches through him when he thinks of how they used to be, thick as thieves, never one seen without the other. 

 

\--

 

They get home a quarter after nine and explode into the front hall, eager to start their annual horror movie marathon and candy binge. Seth leaves his cowl and the rest of his costume in a pile by the door and Richie follows suit, dropping his sunglasses somewhere by his shoes and following Seth into the living room, who's already got his pillowcase emptied out onto the carpet.

 

Once Richie adds his to the mix, it really is a pretty good haul despite the early end to the evening. Seth flicks on the TV to find  _ Army of Darkness _ partway through, and together they stack up a pile of their favourite candy on Eddie's couch. 

 

They settle in and watch the movie for a while, Seth tucked against Richie's side with the pile of candy between them. But Seth keeps fidgeting, starting to turn to Richie every once in a while but turning back to the TV again just as quick. 

 

"Maybe you should go easy on the sugar if it's gonna make you this twitchy," Richie says, after what must be the tenth time that Seth starts to say something and abruptly snaps his mouth shut again. 

 

"What? No, it's not that." Seth huffs an exaggerated sigh, then glances behind them as though he's checking that they're alone. "It's just… y'know what we were talking about earlier? About. The kissing stuff."

 

"Sure," Richie says, tilting his head to look at Seth. 

 

"Will you try it with me?" 

 

Richie blinks. 

 

"Hold on," he says, putting his hands up. "Are you asking me to kiss you?" 

 

Seth's eyes grow wide and his cheeks bloom with colour. "No!" he snaps, growing increasingly agitated. "I mean, kind of, I guess, it's - if I do go to the dance next week - if I try it with you first. You could tell me if I'm good or not."

 

Richie suddenly feels a little fluttery, abruptly aware of Seth and the places Seth's body is touching his and how close Seth is, inches away. "What do I know about that stuff that you don't?" he asks.

 

"That's not why I'm asking you," Seth mumbles, picking at a hole near the bottom of his t-shirt. "It's just that - if I practice with you, it doesn't matter if I mess up. I don't have to be perfect with you."

 

He says the last part in a low hush, more to himself than to Richie.

 

Richie swallows hard. Just how much he's missed being needed by Seth for something,  _ anything, _ weighs heavy in his throat. 

 

"I guess it's not a bad idea," Richie hedges. 

 

Seth looks at him in surprise. "It's not?"

 

"If you think it'll help, I'll do it," Richie says, even as the first curls of trepidation make themselves known, in the thud of his heart and the slick of sweat on his palms.

 

"Do  _ you _ think it'll help?" Seth asks. 

 

"It might," Richie replies. "I don't really know." 

 

He looks at Seth, and Seth looks at him, and the longer they sit there the hotter Richie feels. As his nerves are concerned he may as well have just agreed to kiss a total stranger, not the brother he's known for his entire life. 

 

Seth shifts uncomfortably, growing antsier with every movement. "So, should I just- right now?" 

 

"Yeah, I guess." Richie was going for nonchalant, but all of a sudden his hands feel soggy enough that he has to scrub them dry on his pants. "Unless you wanna go upstairs or something." 

 

"Nah, Eddie's there," Seth says. "I think it would be weirder knowing he was in the next room."

 

Richie bites his cheek against a ridiculous, inappropriate laugh. This wasn't the kind of conversation he was expecting to have with Seth tonight, that's for sure. 

 

"Just do it then," Richie says.

 

Seth inhales deeply and finally puts his hands on Richie's shoulders, squeezing a little tighter than he has to. And then, he gently presses their lips together.

 

It's a lot like the first kiss Richie remembers. A kiddie kind of kiss, shut eyes and pursed lips and a tentative, barely there touch. It's alright but it's nothing special, nothing like the way Richie's seen some of the older kids do it. 

 

"Maybe we should relax a bit," Richie tells him, after pushing Seth back a bit. "I don't think you're supposed to pucker like that."

 

Seth seems to shrink in on himself, the shred of confidence he'd built up ebbing out just as quick. "Well, how else are you supposed to do it?"

 

"Do what comes naturally? Just - I dunno. Don't think so much about it," Richie offers lamely. As if he knows any more about this than Seth does. He probably knows  _ less. _

 

Seth's brows knit into a frown, but smooth out again just as quick, and Richie can almost see the gears turning in his head. "Alright." Seth inhales deep, shuts his eyes and opens them again. "Okay."

 

Seth leans in and this time he keeps his lips slack. He's still cautious at first and sort of clumsy, but it's different than before and it's soft and  _ nice _ and after a while Richie's pretty sure he'd be okay with it if he just sat here and let Seth kiss him forever. 

 

Eventually, Seth pulls away and settles back on his haunches. "Was that better?" he asks, with a curious cock of his head. "I don't really… know what it's supposed to feel like."

 

"I thought it was good," Richie affirms, idle gaze drawn to the shine on the swell of Seth's lower lip. "Did you?"

 

Seth nods, face coloured a fetching shade of pink.

 

"Then should we stop?" Richie asks, though if he's being honest he doesn't really want to stop. His lips are tingling and he feels good in this floaty-weird way that he can't really put a finger on. It's almost addictive, like when he's eating gummy bears and keeps telling himself  _ just one more, then I'm done  _ and before he knows it the whole bag is gone and he's licking the leftover sugar off the tips of his fingers.

 

"Yeah? No. I don't know," Seth mumbles. His fingers curl up in the throw on the couch and pull it tight. "Could we could do it one more time? But. With tongues." 

 

Richie wrinkles his nose. "Why? People only put their tongues in each others' mouths when they're gonna second base it."

 

Seth goes scarlet.

 

_ "Richie,"  _ he squeaks, swinging his legs off the edge of the cushion and scooting away toward the arm of the couch. "I'm not gonna - that isn't what I was thinking about at all."

 

Richie ignores the sudden jittery flip flop of his guts again at the idea of Seth and second base being even remotely connected to each other. He stretches out on the couch instead, nudging Seth's thigh with the flat of his foot.

 

"Look, I don't think you gotta worry about that stuff yet. She'll probably be as nervous as you are."

 

"You think so?" Seth looks at him hopefully.

 

Richie shrugs. "At least you kind of know what you're doing now too." 

 

"Yeah," Seth says. "I guess I do."

 

"You're gonna do fine, brother, I know it." Richie puts a hand on Seth's shoulder. "Just be cool."

 

"I'm always cool," Seth says indignantly, as though he hadn't just been jumpier than Richie's ever seen him for the last hour or so.

 

Richie huffs an exaggerated sigh and whacks Seth with a throw pillow. "Act like it then, Romeo."

 

"Hey, watch the face," Seth splutters and grabs the pillow out of Richie's grip, holding it out of reach with one hand and keeping Richie at arm's length with the other. "Jerk." 

 

"Yeah, yeah," Richie says, waving off the insult. "You ready to watch the movie now, princess?"

 

Seth mock scowls, but it melts into an easy smile after a second, though there's something behind it that Richie can't place. "Okay, let's do it." He leans past Richie to grab a chocolate bar from the now-scattered pile of candy on the couch and rips into it. 

 

Richie looks at Seth,  _ really _ looks at him, like he can figure out what Seth's thinking just from that tiny little twitch of his mouth. He gets nothing for his trouble but a quizzical, irritated glance. 

 

"Are we watching Ash kick some ass or what?"

 

Richie shakes his head, cranks the volume on the TV, and lets Seth curl up to his side again.

 

\--

 

"So, did you get to kiss her?" Richie asks over breakfast next Saturday. "Eddie didn't pick you up from the dance 'til pretty late last night."

 

Seth yawns, nonchalant, and cocks his head at Richie. "Yeah."

 

"Well, c'mon. Tell me, what was it like?" Richie looks at him expectantly. 

 

"Kinda just…" Seth trails off. He looks thoughtful as he fishes around on his plate with a finger, pushing all the bacon to the edge, away from a pool of syrup. "It was better with you."

 

Richie's fork screeches on his plate and Seth winces away from the sound.

 

"Take it easy on the china, Richard."

 

"Sorry," Richie mumbles distractedly. That tingly feeling from yesterday is back again, butterfly wingbeats down below, fluttery like the excitement before Christmas morning. 

 

_ It was better with you. _

 

Seth's words seem to echo through his skull, like his brain's been hollowed out and replaced with one single sentence, left to grow louder and louder until it's all he can hear. 

 


	6. Splinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow six months have gone by since I posted the last chapter? Yikes! Sorry. This fic isn't dead, I promise, I've just had a whole ton of stuff to deal with irl.

\--

**December, 1999**

 

"Hey, Richie." 

 

It's a soft, melodic lilt with a flirty little upturn at the end, and it makes Richie's skin prickle with interest as he puts down the box of chips he was carrying to find Alex standing behind him. Alex, the boss' daughter, a few months older and far more worldly, with long auburn hair and a pixie-ish nose and a penchant for dragging Richie into the storage room of her Dad, Frank's little grocery store whenever he steps out for a smoke break.

 

"You wanna go make out?" Alex purrs. Her breath smells like mint gum and cherry lipgloss and the rest of her smells faintly of the same brand of cigs her Dad smokes. 

 

Richie has work he has to get done before he leaves tonight, but he also wants a reminder of what Alex's tongue feels like in his mouth and that, like it has all month since Alex started showing up here after school, wins out over the monotony of spending the last two hours of his shift mindlessly stocking shelves.

 

"Fuck yeah," Richie whispers, toeing the box behind a candy display so it won't look obviously abandoned if Frank comes back early, and follows Alex through the  _ employees only _ door. 

 

She tugs him into the closet where Frank stores all the cleaners and locks the door behind them. It's cramped and tiny, with a single bare bulb above them and barely enough space to move without knocking bottles off shelves, but it's enough space to do what they're here for.

 

Alex kisses him without preamble and Richie's already hard in his jeans, lightning quick at the first touch of her body. She doesn't seem to mind when he tries new things, sometimes it even gets a pleased moan out of her, and that's what happens now when he sucks her lower lip into his mouth and she pushes up against his thigh.

 

Richie doesn't have any real feelings for Alex, hell he doesn't even  _ like _ her all that much, but his body does and that's what matters when they're pushed together in this musty little room. 

 

Usually they just make out, sometimes Alex lets him touch her tits but there's not enough time for anything else - Frank's smoke breaks are fifteen minutes, give or take, and that really only leaves ten to get anything done, by the time Alex's extended the invitation and Richie's accepted it.

 

Today is no different. Alex's arms wrap around his neck and her boobs press against his chest like soft little pillows and he just loses himself in the rhythm of their kisses until they're out of time again. 

 

"See you around, Gecko," Alex says, smacking her lips after reapplying that sticky cherry lipgloss she always wears. Richie can still taste it on his own lips and he licks it off, as if Frank would ever notice it being there.

 

She leaves first, she always does, because she has less reason to be back here than Richie does and she's supposed to be here after school doing homework, not making out with Frank's newest stockboy.

 

"Alexandra, where ya been?" Richie hears a distant Frank ask, once Alex has disappeared back through the doors. "I told you, you sit here 'n' do your work. If you were out back smokin' them coffin nails again I  _ will _ disconnect that damn phone in your room."

 

Frank isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, Richie's come to learn, but he's a friend of Eddie's and he's paying Richie better than he really should for the three hours he spends here on weekdays after school, so Richie vows to do his best for the remainder of his shift. Also, he does feel bad for fooling around with Frank's daughter, even though she's the one who initiated it.

 

He picks up another box of chips to stock and carries them out to the floor, hoping Frank doesn't spot him amongst the rows of shelving. No such luck.

 

"Richie!" Frank booms. "See, Alex, now there's a role model for you. Always on time, always gets his work done. Gets good grades too, if I'm to believe his uncle." 

 

Frank winks and Richie pinks up in spite of himself. 

 

"Oh yeah, Dad," Alex says, with a sly smile aimed Richie's way. "I'm sure Richie and me would get along great."

 

\--

 

When Richie gets back home that night after his shift, Eddie's nowhere to be found and neither is Seth. Both of them are gone a lot lately, Eddie on business and Seth out with friends, the new ones he's picked up recently who spend more time cutting class and wasting days away at each others' houses than going to school.

 

Thinking of Seth's friends, the smug, fuzzy faces he's seen maybe once or twice, makes Richie bristle as he tries not to feel like he's been abandoned. Spending time with Alex at work is fine, she's nice and all, but Richie doesn't have much in common with her besides big brothers and broken homes and pasts neither of them want to talk much about.

 

Right now he's in the living room, lounging in his pyjamas in front of a staticy rerun of  _ Cheers _ and telling himself he's not waiting for Seth. Seth never used to stay out this late, he'd be back even before Richie was some days, working on the guns or talking to Eddie and doing just about anything he could do avoid tackling his ever growing pile of unfinished homework. 

 

It's not until eleven-thirty, a whole hour and a half after ten o'clock curfew, that Seth comes through the door, kicking his shoes off into the pile on the mat with a series of thumps followed by the gentle sound of the door pushing shut. 

 

"Richie? You here?" 

 

Richie gets up slow and sees Seth standing in the doorway to the living room. He's carrying a pizza box under one arm and looks noticeably rumpled, his hair messy and stuck up at one side, with a red smudge around the corner of his lips that looks more like lipstick remnants than marinara sauce. 

 

He's got a telltale look to him too, movements reading like a floppy, dazed puppet that speaks to the alcohol he was probably drinking before his friends dropped him off.

 

Suddenly, Richie's angry, so angry he almost wishes Seth hadn't come home at all, that he'd just stayed out with whoever wears crimson lipstick that smears around the edges and buys him liquor that turns him stupid-drunk and lazy. 

 

"You might wanna take a look in a mirror," Richie says acidly.

 

Seth cocks his head and glances at his reflection in the entryway mirror, laughing sheepishly when he notices what Richie's talking about. 

 

"Crap," he mumbles, scrubbing at the mark with the pad of his thumb. "I thought I'd got it all." He gives up after a few moments and shrugs, holding out the box. "Pizza? We ordered too much, there's half a large in here." 

 

"No. I don't want any." Richie scowls at him, annoyed beyond belief that Seth doesn't see anything at all that's wrong with this situation. That he's so blase about walking in buzzed with lipstick staining his mouth, way after curfew when they have training in the morning.

 

"Richard," Seth says crossly, finally picking up on Richie's tone. He holds out the bent box. "Have some pizza and quit being such a baby." 

 

Richie's stomach growls - he'd forgotten dinner, he often does when it's just him - but he shoves the pizza box away and takes a step back. "No _ thanks." _

 

Seth makes an aggravated noise and rolls his eyes. "Alright, whatever. Sorry I offered." 

 

They glare at each other a moment, until Seth turns on his heel and drops the pizza box unceremoniously onto the counter in the kitchen, busying himself with digging through the fridge.

 

While Seth's back is to him, Richie stomps away up the stairs and doesn't slam the door to their room, even though he wants to just so Seth knows he's still pissed. 

 

When Richie gets into bed he immediately turns to face the wall, angry without really knowing why. He's still staring at chipped paint when Seth's weight dips the mattress a while later, though he doesn't turn around or acknowledge the gentle shoulder poke and whispered,  _ "you awake?" _ that accompanies it. 

 

Seth's eventual sigh is quiet, and he lays down facing away from Richie, leaving as much space between their backs as a twin mattress can allow for two growing teenage boys.

 

It's a cold victory that just adds fresh depth to the already empty, gnawing feeling in Richie's stomach.

 

\--

 

_ Richard. _

 

Richie's toe curlingly, jaw droppingly close. Just one more touch, right there,  _ just a little more.  _ His hips roll forward and it's good, it's so good, slick palms working his dick just the way he likes. There's no recognizable face, no definable body to speak of, but lips are crimson and smudged at one side and they're quirked into Alex's inviting little smile.

 

_ Richie. _

 

The voice, deeper than he was expecting and so much more familiar, is what tips him over and it's his own moan that shocks him fully awake, consciousness washing over him like the rise past the surface of choppy water, a gasping breath and a splash and the shock of the cold air outside hitting his skin. 

 

"Richie," Seth mumbles again. "Quit it."

 

Richie opens bleary eyes to the back of Seth's head, tucked into the pillow next to his. He feels wired, oversensitive, and acutely aware of the fact that he's tangled his limbs up with Seth's and his dick, still interested and nowhere near soft, is dug into the small of Seth's back.

 

He lets go of Seth and jerks away, scooting as far from Seth as the mattress allows. His underwear feels wet and gross, he's sticky with sweat from having plastered himself to Seth under their mountain of blankets, and he's beginning to realize, with mounting horror, that there's no way Seth doesn't know what just happened. 

 

His worst fears are confirmed when Seth flops onto his back a moment later, tilting his head on the pillow to look sidelong at Richie. He's grinning wide with amusement, bright eyed and in no way sleepy anymore.

 

"Jeez, Richard. A little heads up would be nice if you're gonna try to hump me through the mattress."

 

Richie's whole face goes hot. "Can we just agree to pretend this never happened?" 

 

He suddenly regrets his continued insistence on Seth taking the outside of the bed, because he's trapped in between the wall and Seth's shit eating grin. The only way to get out now would be to climb over him and he doesn't know which option is more humiliating.

 

"I dunno, I'm kinda curious about what got you so riled up," Seth replies. "You act like a monk most of the time, I was getting worried that you didn't know what your dick is for."

 

The sludgy mess in Richie's underwear is starting to congeal and pull at things that shouldn't be pulled at and if his head could have exploded from embarrassment it would have the second Seth said  _ dick. _

 

"Of course I know," Richie snaps. "I just don't talk to  _ you _ about it."

 

Seth gets a funny look on his face and reaches over to pat Richie on the chest through the thick layer of the comforter, gone serious for once. "Hey, don't feel weird about this stuff. It happens to everyone," he says. "It's fine." 

 

Richie holds the eye contact with Seth, even after Seth pulls his hand back. 

 

"And- you know you  _ can _ talk to me about this, right?" Seth asks earnestly. "Any of it."

 

Richie's pretty sure he'd rather throw himself in front of a truck than ask his brother for advice about his junk, but he nods at Seth just to get him off his back.

 

Seth smiles and looks away, glancing down at the clock on the nightstand. "May as well get up, it's almost time anyway," he says, kicking the blankets off and getting to his feet, stretching in the morning sun.

 

Richie watches Seth do it, the lean muscle in his back rippling as he raises his arms above his head. He even  _ looks _ older than Richie does, as if there's really such a difference between fourteen and fifteen.

 

Seth's out feeling up girls and getting drunk at senior parties and Richie's stuck spending evenings at Frank's little grocery store, lucky when Alex even bothers to look his way. He's still creaming his underwear like a kid while Seth can probably get his dick sucked any time he wants.

 

"C'mon, Richard. We'll get an early start on training." It's a peace offering, to shake off this morning and the fight last night and the whole weird vibe that's been between them lately.

 

"Yeah, okay," Richie mutters. He gets up slow, surreptitiously looking down and checking whether the wet spot bled through to his pyjama pants. Thankfully it didn't, and he slinks past Seth to the merciful privacy of the bathroom.

 

\--

 

Ever since Seth turned fifteen, Eddie's had him and Richie set up in the field behind the house for target practice each weekend. 

 

This morning, after a quick cereal breakfast Richie and Seth are out back with Eddie's pistol, because he won't let them graduate to the shotgun yet. He says the kickback is too much for teenagers to handle, but Richie's pretty sure he just doesn't trust them unattended and packing too much heat. 

 

Richie watches Seth square up his shoulders and fire, hitting his tin can out of the vee of branches in the dead tree about thirty feet away with pinpoint accuracy. 

 

"Beat that," Seth grins, handing the gun to Richie. 

 

"Gimme a target," Richie says. "I bet I can hit it, first try."

 

"Alright, tough guy," Seth replies. He puts his hand to his forehead to block the light of the sun and scans their setup of cans in the little wooded area. "That one." 

 

Seth's pointing to one on the ground to the side, that's barely visible past a small pile of snow. 

 

"Oh, come on," Richie groans. "Yours was way easier, no fair."

 

"I thought you were supposed to be good at this."

 

"I am." Richie sets his jaw. He'll hit that stupid can for sure. 

 

He flicks the safety and pulls the trigger. The bang echoes wide, and the pile of snow explodes into fluff, but the can is still stubbornly in its spot. 

 

Richie winces, not wanting to look over at Seth but he does anyway, only to be met with Seth's irritating, gloating smile. Richie sneers at him. 

 

"Bet you I can hit it," Seth says, holding out his hand to take the gun back. "If I do, what'll you give me?"

 

"I don't know, dealer's choice," Richie replies, suddenly weary and wishing he could go back inside. It's cold out and the jacket he grabbed isn't really made for this weather.

 

"If I hit this, you gotta… tell me what you were dreaming about this morning." 

 

"What? No way!" Richie exclaims, pulling his collar closer around his neck. 

 

"Hey, dealer's choice," Seth shrugs. "You did this to yourself."

 

Richie bristles. It'll be fine, Seth isn't going to hit it either. He's terrible at hitting targets that are close to the ground, he always overcompensates and ends up hitting dirt.

 

He watches Seth square his shoulders up and plant his feet. 

 

_ No way. _

 

Seth hits it. 

 

The can blows backward and bounces off the trunk of the tree behind it, and Seth smiles triumphantly at Richie's shocked face.

 

"What did I tell you, Richard?" Seth gloats, re-engaging the safety and turning back in the direction of Eddie's house in the distance. "Pony up."

 

Richie sighs. He could deflect the question, but coming up with a lie seems like more work than just telling the truth. Besides, there's not much of a point in keeping this a secret from Seth, he'll probably find out eventually. 

 

"There's this girl at work, Alex," he starts. "She and I - uh. We make out a lot. In the storage room." 

 

Seth's eyes widen. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," he says, sounding almost offended. "I tell  _ you _ everything."

 

"It's not that big of a deal, we never go any further than that. And it's not like she's my girlfriend."

 

"Well it obviously has an effect on you," Seth says, as they start to walk back to the house. Richie sort of wishes he could just keep walking 'til he sinks into the earth, if it would avoid him having to have this conversation. 

 

"You jack off after, right?"

 

The question is so crass that Richie almost stumbles over a snowdrift. 

 

"Why would I-  _ where  _ \- I'm not going to do that at  _ work," _ Richie splutters. 

 

"I mean later, dingus, I'm not telling you to go mess up Frank's employee bathroom," Seth chuckles. "It's just, if you're teasing yourself that much it's gonna build up eventually." 

 

That gives Richie pause. He stops walking, Seth getting a few feet ahead of him before he realizes Richie's not following and stops too. 

 

Seth probably has a point, but hell if Richie's letting him know it. 

 

"Rich?" 

 

"I can't believe you're trying to lecture me about this," Richie says, a laugh bubbling up out of him before he can stop it. 

 

Seth shrugs, but he looks a little taken aback. "I'm just sharing my knowledge, Richard," he sniffs. "Advice is what big brothers are for."

 

Richie shoots him an unimpressed look and crosses his arms over his chest. "We're in the same grade."

 

"I'm still older than you." Seth grins at him cheekily. "Besides, I just don't wanna wake up to your junk sho-"

 

"Okay,  _ okay," _ Richie interrupts quickly, hot all over despite the cold of the winter air. "Noted. Could you stop bringing it up?"

 

Seth draws his hand across his face in an exaggerated flourish. "It's forgotten."

 

"Better be," Richie mutters. "'Cause if you keep complaining there's a perfectly good,  _ empty _ bed across the room from mine."

 

"Ours," Seth corrects, sounding almost automatic. "It's across the room from ours."

 

The  _ ours _ hits Richie somewhere in the chest and sticks there, stuck behind his ribs like a bird in a cage. His stomach does that weird little flip again, the way it hasn't done in a long while.

 

"Right," Richie says slowly. "Ours."

 

Seth smiles and starts walking back toward the house.

 

\--

 

Richie doesn't see Alex again for another week and by then it's almost Christmas. Today is Richie's last shift until January, because Frank's cutting the hours of everyone who's not necessary to run the place.

 

The back of the store is stuffier than usual today with the heat set high to combat the winter chill, and Alex doesn't even bother with their usual closet - she leads Richie back to the stockroom instead and leans against a shelf, aiming black ringed green eyes at him as she fiddles with something in the pocket of her hoodie. 

 

"I'm not in the mood to do anything today," she says. "I don't have time anyway since my brother's picking me up in a few minutes, but. I just wanted to give you something. For Christmas."

 

Alex pulls a clear plastic baggie out of her pocket, and Richie's eyes widen at the sight of the three off-white sticks inside. 

 

"Uh, are those…?"

 

"My brother was showing me how to roll joints last night and these were my best ones," she says with a sheepish smile. "Sorry it's kinda lame, I guess I just wanted to say thanks for making my Dad time less of a chore." 

 

She holds out the bag and Richie takes it, mostly because he doesn't know how to refuse it without coming off like a douche and the last thing he wants is to disappoint her. 

 

"By the way, I'm not gonna be here when you're back," Alex adds. "My parents are making me see a tutor after school instead." 

 

The news doesn't hit Richie the way it probably should have, but there's a tiny pang just the same at the idea that Alex won't be waiting around during his shifts anymore. 

 

"I'll miss you," Richie says honestly, watching Alex tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She looks prettier in this dim, shadowy room, and he thinks about hugging her but he's not sure that he's allowed. "I don't know what I'll have to look forward to here anymore." 

 

Alex smiles. "I think you'll manage without me, cowboy." 

 

Before he can decide whether or not to risk going for a hug, Alex does it first and presses her face into his shoulder. 

 

"Think of me when you smoke 'em, huh?" she says when she pulls away, with a gentle punch to Richie's arm. "Just chill out a bit, it'll be good for you." 

 

"Yeah, um. Okay." Richie shoves the bag into his pocket and takes a step away from her. "Merry Christmas, Alex. Sorry I didn't get you anything."

 

Alex shakes her head and grabs a bag of Cheetos out of a nearby box with a wink. "Merry Christmas, Richie."

 

Then she's gone, and Richie stands there until he hears the tinkle of the bell on the front door of the store.

 

\--

 

That night Richie ends up in his room with Seth, trying to get the weekend's homework out of the way so they're free to train with Eddie tomorrow. Richie's already through most of his, but Seth is still stuck on his math assignment with the rest of his pile not even started. 

 

"Math is impossible," Seth whines after a while, flopping back onto the bed and looking up at Richie. "When am I ever even gonna need this stuff? Just lemme copy yours, come on."

 

"Then you're not going to learn anything," Richie says, barely glancing up from his own worksheet. "And you'll fail the test on Monday."

 

"I could go get those answers easy. We used to do that all the time in middle school, remember?" Seth rolls over, head resting on Richie's thigh as he aims his best pout up at him. "I'd share 'em with you."

 

Richie gives him a withering look and puts his pencil down. "Do you want to get into college?"

 

_ "Do you wanna get into college?" _ Seth mocks, high pitched and irritating. "Doesn't it hurt to sit down with that stick shoved so far up your ass?"

 

Richie scowls and pushes Seth off his leg. 

 

"Okay, fine. Whatever. My textbook is in my bag," he mutters. "Just don't come crying to me when you fail the exam in the spring."

 

Seth beams at him like he hadn't even heard what Richie said past the 'okay' and goes to rifle through Richie's backpack on the floor. 

 

Richie returns to his homework and tunes out Seth's rustling, only to be interrupted a couple minutes later by a small, white blur whizzing into his field of view. He snaps his head up and sees Seth standing there holding a very familiar baggie, with the kind of grin on his face that never promises good things. 

 

"Well, well, well," Seth says. "You have anything to tell me, Richard?" 

 

Richie's still frozen looking at the three joints. The three joints Alex gave him earlier that he'd stuffed into his backpack and managed to completely forget about already. 

 

He grabs for the bag but Seth yanks it out of reach. 

 

"I'm waiting." 

 

Richie can't tell if Seth is playing around or not, but he doesn't care enough about the stupid things to find out. He sighs. "Alex gave them to me," Richie tells Seth, lifting his homework off his lap and setting it aside. "I was going to get rid of them, I just forgot they were in there."

 

Seth tosses the bag onto the bed and settles back down in his spot on the mattress, socked feet nudging at Richie's knee. "Seems like a waste to toss them out. Have you ever gotten high before?"

 

"Have you?" Richie shoots back. 

 

Seth's smile turns smug. "A couple times." 

 

Of course he has. Anything Richie does, Seth's already done better, at least when it comes to things that aren't school related.

 

The smug needles at Richie's already fraying patience. "Take 'em then. You can go share them with all your precious friends."

 

Bitterness laces through each word, more obvious than he'd intended. Seth's face falls into concern, and he scrambles up to his knees.

 

"I don't want to do that," he says, slinging his arms around Richie's shoulders and resting his chest against Richie's back. "I want you to share one with me. Tonight, since Eddie's not back 'til tomorrow morning." 

 

With Seth's hug comes a wash of calm, and the irritation ebbs away as quick as it had come. Richie leans into him gratefully, feeling Seth's body heat soaking through his t-shirt.

 

"Feels like we haven't hung out properly in a while," Seth continues. 

 

Richie's weirdly touched by the admission that he's not the only one who's noticed the distance between them lately.

 

"Well, okay," Richie hedges. 

 

\--

 

Being high is strange. 

 

It's also way different than Richie expected it to be; he mostly just feels relaxed and floppy, and he keeps getting distracted by how rough his jeans feel against his hands in comparison to the softness of his comforter.

 

"This isn't so bad," he tells Seth, as he watches him take another hit off the joint. Richie's pretty sure Seth has smoked most of it, not that he's complaining - he'd rather not find out what it's like to do too much. 

 

Seth turns to him, pinkish stare seeming to pin Richie on the spot. "Richard," he starts. "What are your intentions with this chick? Alex, was it?"

 

Richie blinks at him.

 

"My intentions." An incredulous giggle escapes Richie before he can stop it. "What are you, forty?"

 

Seth purses his lips together in exasperation. "You know what I mean, you think you're gonna fuck her?" 

 

Richie looks away, up to the ceiling. Normally Seth's crudeness would make him flush, but now it just makes him smile. 

 

"Is it weird that I never thought about it? I mean- I guess, not consciously, anyway." 

 

Seth exhales a cloud of smoke and offers the joint back to Richie. He takes it but doesn't put it to his lips, just leaves it resting between two fingers. 

 

"That is kinda weird," Seth says. "She's pretty, isn't she?"

 

Richie shrugs. "Sure, I guess. I dunno, she's let me touch her boobs a couple times. But it never felt like it was gonna go further than it did, and I don't know if I wanted it to." 

 

Seth grabs Richie's hand and raises it, and the joint to his own lips. Richie watches him take a hit off the joint still held between Richie's fingers and wonders why his skin is tingling everywhere Seth is touching.

 

"Why are you talking in past tense?" Seth cocks his head and lets go of Richie's hand. "She didn't dump you or anything did she?"

 

Oh, right. Of course Seth wouldn't know. "These were also a goodbye present, she's not gonna be at the store anymore after Christmas."

 

Seth frowns, reaching out to touch Richie's shoulder. "You okay with that?" 

 

Richie's more than okay. He's  _ great, _ he's relaxed and happy and has Seth here with him and he wouldn't trade this moment for a thousand with Alex in that musty broom closet.

 

"We weren't even really friends," Richie says. "I'm over it." 

 

Seth offers the joint again, mostly a stub at this point. Richie accepts it and this time he does take a drag, holding the smoke in until his lungs feel full to bursting and letting it out in a rush. 

 

It's burnt close enough to his fingers that the cherry stings his skin, and he leans past Seth to drop the butt in the glass of water he keeps on the night table. 

 

"I'm still sorry she's gone," Seth replies. 

 

A headrush hits just as Richie's trying to settle again, so he just flops down onto the bed instead. He looks up and finds Seth looking down at him in amusement. 

 

"Sleepy?"

 

"Somethin' like that."

 

Seth thumps onto the mattress beside Richie, facing him. They're so close Richie can feel Seth's breath on his face, warm and faintly minty. 

 

"You know what's really good like this?" Seth asks. "Touching someone. Like, just contact with another person."

 

"Yeah?" Richie's barely listening, more absorbing the sound of Seth's voice than the words themselves.

 

Seth's hand falls to Richie's arm and even though it's no different than any other time Seth's touched him, a shiver runs up Richie's spine. He feels sensitive everywhere Seth's bare skin is against his, hyper-focused on every point of contact between them.  

 

"Fucking is really good too," Seth adds, in a lazy drawl.

 

"I guess you've done it then." A suspicion Richie's had for a while that Seth's never outright confirmed. Richie thinks he should feel more ashamed for speaking so bluntly, but he's really just sort of curious. 

 

"Yeah, I have. Only done it high once, but it was  _ amazing." _

 

"Why? What made it so much better?" 

 

Seth props himself up on an elbow and wraps his fingers around Richie's hand, turning it over palm side up. He runs the pad of his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of Richie's wrist, a sensation that tingles and zings and feels decidedly nicer than usual. 

 

"Now imagine that, but it's your dick. In a mouth or a pussy, whichever you want."

 

Richie swallows hard, suddenly feeling parched and dry. The way  _ pussy _ rolls off Seth's tongue has the fluttery butterfly feeling back in Richie's guts, though it's less like nerves and more like arousal if the way his cock is twitching is any indication.

 

Seth is the only person Richie's ever been horny around besides Alex, and it's probably not a good thing that Richie's far more interested in what Seth has to say now than he ever really was with Alex.

 

"You should come out with me to parties sometimes," Seth says. "I could definitely get you laid."

 

Richie rolls onto his back. "Maybe. I don't know, that doesn't feel like my scene."

 

Seth edges up close to him, pressing the front of his body to Richie's side, slinging an arm across Richie's chest. "I'm not trying to push you or anything, I just don't want you to think I'm leaving you out. I'll bring you if you ever want to go, you just have to ask."

 

Richie feels a little guilty then, for snapping at Seth about his friends earlier. Maybe Seth hasn't invited him out with them 'til now, but Richie hasn't exactly asked him to either. 

 

He lifts a hand to Seth's head and strokes his hair, soft spikes fanning through his fingers.

 

Seth makes a quiet noise, pressing closer and nuzzling into Richie's shoulder. "This is nice," he mumbles. 

 

It is nice, having Seth's weight and warmth pressed against him. He's half hard in his jeans and that part of the situation is making this a little less than perfect, but it's definitely not the first boner he's had around Seth and it probably won't be the last.

 

The inappropriateness of the thought surprises Richie into a laugh.

 

"What's so funny?" Seth asks.

 

"It's nothing," Richie says between giggles, putting a hand over his mouth. "I just- is this weird? This, like. Us." 

 

Seth raises an eyebrow. "Why would it be weird?"

 

"I mean," Richie starts. He can't think of a delicate way to phrase what he wants to say, so he just barrels ahead. "Most people don't do this kind of thing with their siblings, right?"

 

"I don't know what other people do," Seth says. His tone is easy but there's testiness underlying it. "Why does it matter?"

 

Richie shrugs. "I guess it doesn't."

 

He wraps an arm around Seth and finds him tense and unyielding, and after a few moments Seth extricates himself and rolls onto his back beside Richie. 

 

"You brought it up, so it matters to you," Seth says flatly. 

 

Richie sits up so he can look at Seth, pushing back the hair that falls into his eyes. The rush of a million feelings and half formed thoughts is so sudden he feels like he's choking.

 

He's full to bursting with all the things he could say, all the things he  _ wishes _ that Seth could know without Richie saying them aloud. 

 

Eventually he settles on the safest one, floating closest to the surface. "I don't care about being normal," Richie says, "so long as you're okay being weird with me."

 

Seth stares at him and after a moment, shakes his head. He's smiling though, sort of bashful through thick lashes, and when he places a hand on Richie's wrist it tingles pleasantly.

 

"Just c'mere, Richard. It's cold." Seth pulls at Richie, tugging him back down to the bed so they're on their sides, face to face. 

 

Richie plucks at the edge of the comforter they're laying on. "There's a pretty easy fix for that."

 

"Blankets don't return hugs," Seth says, in a tone like he's imparting age old wisdom as he presses close again. 

 

Richie wraps his arms around Seth and buries his face in his shoulder. The smoke from the joint is still clinging to him, but behind that is soap and fabric softener and  _ Seth, _ the one smell Richie knows he'll never get tired of, as long as he lives. 

 

"Seth?" Richie says suddenly, muffled and quiet. 

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I just- I'm really glad you're here." It's not what Richie meant to say, or even really wanted to - but it's close enough in essence to the feeling Richie gets every time he looks at Seth.

 

Seth's hand comes to rest on the back of Richie's head. 

 

"I'm glad you're here too, buddy."

 


	7. Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FWIW, I consider the events of this chapter as a turning point. Take that as you will. ;) 
> 
> (Unfucking the previous upload of this, my apologies)

\--

**August, 2001**

 

Seth's girlfriend Wendy is part of one of those families who still have Sunday dinner and parents who go to their soccer games. Upper middle class, a big monster house in the suburbs, with a big trampoline and a pool and a fancy car nobody's allowed to drive parked in the garage.

 

Richie always feels a little jumpy in places like this, like he doesn't belong in the kind of house that has report cards stuck to the fridge with magnets and a framed cross-stitch portrait of Jesus in the front hallway.

 

He's not sure why Seth thought it would be a good idea to set him and Wendy's cousin Mary up with an impromptu pool party at Wendy's place this afternoon, but he can't say he's all that upset about it when being set up got him out of chore day with Eddie, and also includes the sight of Mary in her stringy little bathing suit.

 

Mary's the kind of girl who Richie wouldn't even dream of talking to if they passed each other in the hallways at school. Delicate features, sun dappled brown hair, and a permanent quirk to her mouth like she's got a secret she's not sharing. It's admittedly been a struggle to keep his gaze from wandering down to the swell of her breasts under her bikini top, covered in Hawaiian style flowers and coloured tropical in bursts of pink, orange, and yellow that stand out against her summer-tanned skin.

 

He tears his eyes away from Mary to focus on Seth instead, watching him tread water a few feet away.

 

"It doesn't count as swimming if you're all just gonna sit on the side," Seth complains. "C'mon, I wanna play chicken."

 

Mary and Wendy look over from their spots sitting on the pool steps in the shallow end, Wendy looking unimpressed. "Chicken? I'm not getting my hair wet."

 

"So don't lose," Seth says simply, and Richie stifles a guffaw as he slides into the water next to him. It's a little on the cold side, but it's a hot day and the cool is refreshing on Richie's skin.

 

Wendy takes off her sunglasses just so she can fix Seth with a withering stare. "Wasn't planning to, jerkwad. You're on, by the way."

 

Mary leans forward with a mischievous look on her face, setting her can of coke to the side. "Stakes?" she asks. "Whenever I play this with my friends we always make a bet."

 

"Hmm," Seth says, tapping his chin as though he's actually giving it some real thought. "Twenty bucks to the winner?"

 

"No, like a dare."

 

"Okay, since you've played it like this before you can make up the stakes," Richie says.

 

"Fine," Mary says. "If you and Seth win, you get to kiss me and Wendy. If me and Wendy win, you have to kiss each other."

 

"What the hell, Mary!" Wendy exclaims, shoving her cousin's shoulder. "No way."

 

But Seth's already got that look on his face, the one that always precludes mischief and mayhem and possible groundings. "Alright," Seth says, glancing over at Richie. "Easy."

 

" _Seth,"_ Wendy protests, finally looking to Richie for help. "Richie?"

 

Everyone's looking at him expectantly, and he wants to shy away from the attention. He shrugs, because if Seth's okay with the wager, then he is too. "I'm in."

 

Wendy scowls at all of them before letting out a resigned sigh. "Weirdos," she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

"Don't worry," Seth says to Richie, in a quiet undertone as they move over to the shallower side of the pool. "I _never_ lose at chicken."

 

Richie rolls his eyes and crouches so Seth can get on his shoulders. "You better not."

 

Seth is heavy, but not heavy enough that Richie can't balance the weight. Mary struggles a little to pick up Wendy but she manages once they're in the water, gazing at him and Seth defiantly.

 

"May the best team win," Mary says with a wink at Richie, as Seth and Wendy lock fingers and start to grapple. Immediately Seth is on the offensive, nearly lunging right off Richie's shoulders.

 

Mary just barely manages to keep Wendy balanced, and Richie's sure that the next shove is gonna win this for both of them when Seth suddenly falls off his shoulders with a surprised yelp.

 

The momentum carries Richie down with him, and they both go splashing into the water. Richie comes up spluttering, blinking the sting of chlorine out of his eyes. "What the hell?" Richie exclaims as Seth surfaces beside him.

 

The girls are tittering back by the stairs, Mary grinning like Sylvester the cat when he's finally got Tweety cornered. Wendy's just bemused, her hair perfectly dry, still tied up in a bun.

 

Seth shakes like a dog, sending droplets of water flying every which way and spiking up his hair again. _"Wendy,"_ Seth snaps. "You're not supposed to tickle your opponent."

 

"I told you I wasn't gonna get my hair wet," Wendy replies smugly.

 

"Best two out of three," Seth says stubbornly.

 

"I don't recall that being part of the deal," Wendy replies.

 

Seth narrows his eyes. "I don't recall _you_ even agreeing to it."

 

"Quit squabbling," Mary calls, coke back in her hand, looking like a queen ready to address her subjects. "We're waiting."

 

Richie sighs, shifting over a little to get his footing on the top of the ramp to the deep end. "We did promise," he says to Seth.

 

Seth turns his attention to Richie as he wades over. "You _wanna_ do it?"

 

Richie chews the inside of his cheek. "I mean, we've already done it before. What's the difference in doing it now?"

 

Seth's got him crowded up against the wall of the pool now, one hand braced on the side beside Richie's arm. "Well, we have an audience," Seth grins. "You into the whole exhibitionism thing?"

 

Richie's cheeks heat, and one of the girls wolf whistles from somewhere behind them.

 

 _"No,"_ he hisses. "I'm just saying-"

 

And then, understanding spreads across Seth's face like a sunrise. "They think we're gonna hate it," Seth interrupts. "Richard, you're a genius."

 

Richie blinks. That wasn't exactly the angle he was going for, in fact he's not entirely sure how kissing _each other_ in front of two girls is going to do anything but embarrass _them,_ but.

 

"Don't be sore losers," Wendy calls. "We don't have all day."

 

_But._

 

"Fine, c'mere," Richie mutters, unable to help glaring in Wendy's general direction. "Let's make this good."

 

Irritation grants the courage to get the words out of his mouth, and his eyes on Seth's face, and it promptly vanishes entirely the second Seth's arms slide around his neck. The panic sets in a moment later, because _what the fuck are we doing, this is so fucking weird._

 

Then Seth is kissing him and Richie can't think anything other than, _wow, Seth's lips are wet._

 

The wet is mostly water but it's partly spit, and he tastes like cola and pool chemicals and the same Seth-taste Richie remembers. The kiss barely lasts for any time at all, but when Seth pulls away, he doesn't step back. He stays close, the tip of his nose nearly touching Richie's, arms still slung around his neck.

 

"You think that was enough?" Seth whispers. He looks so sweet, eyes wide and doe-like, with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

 

And Richie forgets the audience, the dare, and everything leading up to right this second where Seth is looking at him like this, as though it's just the two of them and nothing else has, does, or ever will matter.

 

Richie kisses him again without even thinking about it.

 

Seth seems surprised at first but he recovers fast, and. Well. He got over the gross-out of french kissing at some point because that's Seth's tongue in his mouth, and a sound in his throat like a cross between a sigh and a whimper when Richie slides a tentative hand down his side.

 

It's the kind of kiss that's memorable, where every detail is something special and sweet and enough to send tingles of interest curling through bellies.

 

It's Seth who breaks it, though again he sticks close, so close their lips still brush when he speaks. "Fuck," Seth whispers, so soft even Richie barely hears him. "Richard, fuck."

 

"Okay, okay," Wendy says, splashing over to them. "Point made, you guys lost the battle but you won the fucking war, alright? You can stop now."

 

Seth jerks away from Richie, Wendy's hands around his bicep. Seth's expression is halfway to embarrassed, but his gaze is glued somewhere around Richie's mouth and his own lips are a swollen red and Richie only just manages to swallow the whine at the sudden loss of Seth's weight against him.

 

"See? You don't cheat a Gecko," Seth snaps at Wendy, out of breath and sounding more like a petulant child than anything else. He hoists himself out of the pool and drips all over the concrete side, not even bothering to grab his towel before disappearing into the house.

 

Wendy's scowl is dark like the clouds moving in overhead. "Let's go inside," she says. "I think it's going to rain."

 

As he goes to follow, Richie catches sight of Mary. She squirms a little when their eyes meet and looks away quickly to scramble to her feet.

 

Richie's heart sinks.

 

_Great._

 

\--

 

The rain-clouds clear and Wendy's parents barbecue when they get home, burgers in the backyard patio and generic pop music on the stereo.

 

Richie sits there at the table by the pool as his stomach ties itself into knots, cramping around the two burgers he wolfed down before the nerves overcame the hunger of an afternoon spent swimming.

 

Something's changed.

 

There's been a shift in the way he looks at Seth. And it feels like everyone can see it; Mary, Wendy, even Wendy's parents, who ask casual, yet pointed questions and peer at him and Seth with suspicious eyes.

 

Somewhere in the space of this afternoon, Seth's switched categories in Richie's head - he no longer feels like Seth belongs under _never in a million years_ , populated by the bulk of the people Richie knows, which includes the nice old lady up the street and Mrs. Diaz at the bakery, who always leans her tits over the counter when he comes in for bread and is about forty years too old for him to care.

 

Seth's somewhere else now. Not necessarily in the category Richie reserves for people like Mary either, but stuck in a gray area that Richie doesn't have a name for yet.

 

It's not like Richie had never noticed that Seth's attractive. Of course he could tell, in the same kind of abstract way that he can look at a painting and decide whether he likes it or not.

 

But Seth doesn't just feel like Seth anymore, his brother and his best friend and his favourite person. He's _Seth,_ a person who kisses and knows how to do it, and who looked at Richie this afternoon like they were the only two people left in the world.

  
Richie swallows against the sick roil of his guts and looks up just in time to catch Mary's pointed, _knowing_ expression across the table.


End file.
